


The Witch-King's Curse

by Ulan



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Curses, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Memory Loss, Rivendell | Imladris, Third Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-07
Updated: 2016-10-04
Packaged: 2018-08-13 14:32:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 27,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7980118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ulan/pseuds/Ulan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After retreating in fear of the reborn hero from the Undying Lands, an enraged Witch-King of Angmar sends a death curse to the Vanya who embarrassed him in the battlefield. Although a curse of death falls weakly among the immortal Elves, it did succeed in doing the next best thing: to erase him from the memory of the one he holds most dear, as though he had never even existed.</p><p>It is said that memories are ever the gift of the Eldar. What does one do when ages worth of memories are lost?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Oh man, I apologise for this. I usually don't like having more than one WIP up (and I am so behind on that one, too!), but I have had writer's block for months now. This story is my attempt to get out of that rut. Much of the story has already been written, and I hope to focus on it and see it to completion until I find my pace again.
> 
> I know memory loss is another common trope, but it is another favourite of mine, plus I am not above milking a formula that works, lol! I find that on my off-days, they're wonderful things to go home to, be it as a reader or writer. ^^

Memories are funny things. Often considered as one of Eru's great gifts to Elves, it is said that none other of His children keep and treasure them more than the Firstborn. 

Losing them, therefore, is nigh unheard of. One hears of such things among the Secondborn, a people so fragile and prone to injuries that it is possible to lose one's memories with an injury to the head. It is even said that their memories can fade in old age, a concept wholly unfamiliar to Elves. 

Erestor wonders if they are kindred spirits to him now. 

He stands with Elrond at the gates as a party approaches in the distance. He recognises Galadriel immediately, her light familiar and a thing of wonder still even from afar. But while on most days, one could say that Galadriel has such a presence that would singularly draw attention even in a crowd, Erestor cannot say that such is true today, for there leading the party is another Elf who rivals even the renowned daughter of Finarfin.

Elrond said that this Elf, a Vanya, was returned from Mandos' Halls reborn and shaped anew, better and more blessed than he had been when he was first born in Arda. The strange being Erestor sees now is indeed bright with Aman's light, his hair of deep gold swaying thick behind him like a cloak. His face is clear and beautiful, but one Erestor does not recognise even though he has listened enough of Elrond's strange tale - one the Half-Elf claims to be true - to know that he is a person of import, both to this city and to Erestor. 

He sees the line between the Elf's brows as their company draws near. The golden one is silent as they dismount, even as he steps aside to let Galadriel approach Elrond. 

"My Lady Galadriel," comes Elrond's solemn greeting. 

Galadriel responds with a warm smile. She approaches Elrond, kisses his brow and says, "Greetings, Elrond, my son." 

It takes Erestor a while to accustom himself to this exchange. Elrond and Galadriel have known each other long, have worked together under Gil-galad, but this familial greeting is wholly different from what he was used to. 

"We came as soon as we received Celebrían's letter," he hears Galadriel say. Celebrían, of course, is Galadriel's daughter, now Elrond's wife. 

"Our thanks, my lady," says Elrond. "I apologise for the haste, but you understand the need for it." 

"Indeed, I do," nods Galadriel. "And even without you or my daughter telling me to hurry, I had someone with me who would have travelled alone had we not done our best to hasten."

With this, Galadriel turns to the golden Elf behind her, who has that frown on his face still, though he steps a little beside the lady. His eyes flicker up and settle on Erestor, who has a moment to note the clear deep blue in that gaze, before those eyes shift to Galadriel. 

Galadriel watches him, and it is she still who speaks. "I tell you: this is no easy thing for me to do, but I believe it behooves Erestor to be properly introduced?" 

Erestor sees the golden Elf's lips tighten, the frown line growing deeper, though he remains quiet. It is Elrond who nods at Erestor and gestures for him to come closer. He is positioned so he is standing in front of the golden Elf, who stands undeniably taller than he, broad-shouldered, an imposing figure. 

"I know Elrond has filled you in on the details, old friend," Galadriel tells Erestor with a smile he knows she does best to be reassuring. She takes his hand, as well as the other Elf's. "So, I shall go ahead and say: Erestor, this is Glorfindel." She places Erestor's hand on the other's Elf's - Glorfindel's - upturned one. "You were wed in summer, fairly recently in this new century - two millennia too late, if you wish to listen to how people who know you both would describe it." 

Erestor can sense somehow that Glorfindel is looking at him now, but despite everything that Elrond has already told him, the blood rushes to his ears all the same, and he does not look up to meet that gaze. 

Years... _ages_ blank and lost in his mind. He must not have believed it until this moment, must have listened only with half an ear to every incredible thing Elrond has said. He has denied it until now, until this stranger's hand touched his own and he can see the fingers of that hand, around one of which is the golden ring that exactly matches the one Erestor one day woke up wearing.

*

"It is as you thought, Elrond."

Galadriel's voice is grave as she draws her hands away from Erestor's face. 

Celebrían has joined them earlier, as did the three others whom Elrond introduced as their children - Elladan, Elrohir, and Arwen, the latter sitting close to Erestor, occasionally casting him with worried glances. Their group is seated scattered in the healing halls, but all are listening intently to Galadriel. 

"A curse?" says Elrond, to which the White Lady nods.

"Yes. A touch of Man - an Eastern practice, if what I know of the lore is to be trusted."

Elrond shakes his head. "But why, and for it to be Erestor of all people? I do not see him incurring the wrath of any Man - of Elves, I can imagine," he says in jest, though his face does not lose its lines. Erestor only thinks to pause and frown for a moment at this comment, and he gives Elrond a half-hearted glare. "Although certainly not to this extent. Never has it been our way to dabble in such things in the first place. Erestor hardly leaves the valley and knows few Men for any of them to even have an opinion of him. It just does not make any sense." 

Galadriel glances at Erestor before looking again at Elrond. "I have a theory, but you will not like it." 

"What is it?"

Galadriel turns and fixes her hard gaze again on Erestor. "Master Erestor, how far do you say you can remember?" 

Erestor frowns, but does his best to speak. "I remember going to bed in my chambers at the High King's palace," he says, "a place I have learned has long faded, as has my king. I remember it being a day of council. His Majesty said he worried about a darkness growing, for which we must prepare." 

"He lost an entire age," says Elrond, "as well as a good part of the second one. He remembers nothing of the wars, or even that Sauron rose from and destroyed Eregion." 

"I remember Annatar's coming and the arguments he caused. I remember Celebrimbor defending him, and your counsel not to trust him." The last part Erestor addresses once again to Galadriel.

The lady, however, merely shakes her head. "This has nothing to do with Sauron. Tell me: what do you know of Gondolin?"

Erestor sees the frown that descends on Elrond's face. Behind him, Glorfindel also moves, his arms unfolding from where he had them crossed in front of him, leaning on one of the shelves standing to one side. 

"It was... a hidden city in the First Age, located at the valley of Tumladen," Erestor begins to say as he turns his attention back to Galadriel. "It was built by King Turgon at the behest of Lord Ulmo."

"Correct. Who were its lords?"

"Tuor of the White Wing, sire of Eärendil. Ecthelion of the Fountain..." Erestor frowns, suddenly dizzy, but he shakes himself and continues to list those he can remember. "Maeglin of the Mole. Galdor... Egalmoth, Rog, Duilin, Penlod, Salgant..." 

He pauses. Galadriel immediately calls him on it.

"You have listed them all save one: the lord of the Golden Flower. Who was it?" 

Already Erestor knows that something is wrong, for he can feel Elrond and Glorfindel growing restless throughout this conversation. At this last question and the pause with which Erestor has met it, the two lords rise. 

"What is this?" demands Elrond. His hand is heavy upon Erestor's shoulder. Beside him, Erestor feels Arwen take his hand. 

"Erestor? You should know this best," she says. "My lord, that is Glorfindel's House." 

Galadriel, however, takes Erestor's attention again and continues her questions. "Near the time that we felt that Eregion was in peril, Celebrimbor paid the High King a visit. You were there in attendance. What was it that he said?" 

Erestor shakes his head. "I do not remember this."

"Think back to the year you say you remember. A few years prior, a storm struck western Eriador, so that we saw three days of non-stop rain. What year was it?" 

"1594."

"There was a lord in Gondolin who was chief of two minor houses. What was his name?" 

"Penlod." 

"There was a lord in Gondolin famed for his battle with a Balrog at Cirith Thoronath. What was his name?"

Here again, Erestor shakes his head. "I do not know."

Glorfindel steps slowly behind Elrond, but his eyes are turned to Galadriel. "I do not understand." His voice is faint when he speaks. "What does it mean?"

Galadriel looks at him, and then the others, and her voice is heavy and grave when she says, "Do you see? He remembers the past, but not completely. Glorfindel." She turns to the other Elf, who now crouches on one knee near Erestor. "I do not think that this curse was meant for Erestor at all. Elrond is right; why would anyone wish to harm him? He has done nothing and he has no enemies. One close to him, however, has done much for us in recent years, his story known still, but in so doing has made enemies for himself."

Glorfindel does not speak, so that Elrond does it for him. "Are you suggesting that this is about Glorfindel?" 

"Erestor did not lose all his memories, only those after a certain time, as well as everything that has anything to do with our old friend here." Her eyes are filled with sympathy as she looks at Glorfindel. "What has happened, I believe, was that he was made to forget everything about you, Glorfindel."

"Erestor has forgotten the time upon Glorfindel's coming," says Elrond. "That council he spoke about - on that night, Glorfindel came with a guide from Mithlond. But there are others he does not know. He recognises me and you, but not Celebrían, nor the children." 

"I surmise that he remembers things before this, as it is only knowledge of lore that needed to be removed prior to Glorfindel's arrival. So much of the events of the Second Age involved him, however, so I believe that everything after his coming was affected. People Erestor met afterward would be included. Curses like this, after all, are seldom precise." 

Erestor finds it all difficult to follow, so much of what is being said unfamiliar. He ducks his head again, and so only sees Glorfindel shaking his bowed head from the corner of his eyes.

"Who would do this?" asks the golden lord. "Why would anyone do this?"

Galadriel seems to reflect on her response, but eventually she does sigh as she says, "The only one that comes to mind... is your old friend, the Witch-King. When I sensed this in Erestor, he was the first that came to mind. The timing also works, for was it not only a year ago that you marched back from Fornost? A frustrating battle for him, fleeing as he did from an Elf of Aman. He probably knows little still of Elves; our realm was only safe from him before because I believe he feared me to an extent. But he is a petty one, that Man. I have had the misfortune to deal with him back when he was a mortal king. Even without Sauron's influence, there was already darkness in his heart that was difficult to behold, an evil and callous intent the roots of which even I do not completely understand." 

She turns to Erestor. Her touch is light as she tips his chin up, gazing into his eyes. "This curse - it seems to be meant for something worse. I dare say it was meant to harm Glorfindel from afar. If he were of the Secondborn, it would have simply killed him like poisoned mist." She sighs sadly. "He truly is a coward, that one." 

"Yet Glorfindel is very much alive and the curse affected Erestor instead," says Elrond. "Why is that?"

"In this, your guess is as good as mine. All I can say is that curses, when they do not work as they should, behave in erratic ways and can be difficult to predict. I believe this one, meant for Men and too weak to cut the stronger life given to the Eldar, struck instead on the next best thing it has the power to take away. Apart from our long lives, what other thing is it said that the Eldar is given and are known for?" 

The others are silent, so it is Arwen who speaks. "It touched on memories?" 

Galadriel's smile is a sad one as she nods. "Memories - of the kind that remembers all, for the entirety of our lives, so that all that are and were precious to us are ever held dearly in our minds and hearts. This is what the curse was able to take away. Glorfindel, having chosen now his simpler life, has nothing of his own to lose but his mate. For whatever reason, Erestor is touched instead of him, and in so doing, everything about Glorfindel is gone, at least for this one Elf who matters most. It is not quite as though he had died, but it is as though he had never lived at all." 

Silence descends upon them again, each struggling with the news. To Erestor, he finds these things help him little. He remembers nothing of what they speak of still, and if anything and amidst the confusion, the idea that he is a mere victim to an act of revenge that is not even directed at him leaves him cold and small. Anger and shame fill him in a way he has never known before, and he clutches tightly at the material of his robe.

Glorfindel's heavy voice echoes faintly in the silence of the halls. "I shall find him. I shall find him and have him undo this."

"Where will you find him, my lord, when he has gone in hiding?" asks Galadriel, not unkindly. "The last time he and his kind disappeared, we could not find them in centuries, no matter where we looked. Do you not think you are needed more here?" 

She turns to Elrond. "I have had a few spies moving to check their whereabouts, though the trail is cold by now. We also thought to see how things are with Gondor, for although it is possible for the curse to have been cast only for Glorfindel, he was not alone in that field." 

"A dishonourable act of vengeance," comes Elrond's frustrated complaint. "I cannot believe this. Let us know if you find anything. If there is any way to undo this..."

"I give no guarantees, even if we do find him. The type of magick he practises allows for little control. Spells can seldom be called back once released; even if he wished to, I doubt he even knows how to do so. Search for him if that will ease your mind, but I counsel not to waste too much of your time."

She ignores the looks of frustration Elrond and Glorfindel cast upon her as she turns again to Erestor. She takes something from beneath the sleeves of her robes, extracting a pendant of a dull red stone, which she then places over his head and around his neck. 

"Take this, Erestor," she says. "Wear it at all times. It is meant to protect you so that no worse can be done to you. At the same time, I hope it could take what evil resides in you still. The truth is that I sense little of it in you anymore, only enough to recognise its source, but it does not hang upon you like many curses do."

"The mark is indeed very faint," remarks Elrond. "Perhaps that is why I had difficulty recognising it."

"Yes. I do not know if it can even be reversed at all, for it could be that the spell has already run its course and this here is the effect it left behind. I did guess it to be a death curse, and there are no cures for death, are there? It is how I know the old Witch-King's signature, for few practise such dark and remorseless curses."

"You mean this can be permanent?" one of the twins speak for the first time.

"This could be it, yes," nods Galadriel. "I wish I had better news. I am deeply sorry." 

By now, Erestor wants nothing more than to leave, for he pictures nothing that can ease the weight he feels upon his shoulders. He therefore jumps at a touch on his hand. When he looks up, he finds Glorfindel crouching nearer to him, looking him in the eye for the first time since their reacquaintance. 

"Erestor, I am so sorry." Those large hands take his and hold on tightly, pulling them so dry lips could be pressed against Erestor's numb fingers. "I am... so sorry."

*

A nightmare.

Erestor sits on the side of the bed, alone finally with his thoughts. After the meeting with Galadriel was concluded, he quickly excused himself, wishing for nothing more than to hole himself up in his rooms and never leave. 

Sitting now in the dim light, he looks around him. Even these rooms provide little comfort, for even after weeks since he first learned of his condition, he cannot help but associate it with that first feeling of waking up in unfamiliar surroundings. Yet, there is just nowhere else to go. This entire valley is unfamiliar to him. Even if he wanted to go back to his rooms in Lindon, there is nothing there anymore save for weathered walls and barren lands. The old kingdom is long gone. 

A knock comes at the door. He does not move, but he hears it open slowly after some time, hears the light footfalls that follow. 

That is another thing about these rooms; so many things about it tell Erestor that he does not reside in it alone. Things he cannot imagine himself owning or picking out for himself rest on tables, on the vanity, inside chests and drawers. Even the wardrobe is twice the size of what is practical for a single Elf, filled on one side with robes that are not Erestor's size. 

He is married to this Elf who now stands inside this room, the only sanctuary Erestor knows in this great valley. He is married and they are living together, but nothing about his husband's face or manner is familiar anymore. 

"Pardon me for intruding," says Glorfindel. 

Erestor's eyes remain on the leaves outside the window. "As I understand it, they are your rooms, too. You have every right to them." 

The bed dips as Glorfindel sits beside Erestor. 

"You need not worry," says the Vanya. "I have come only to collect my things." 

At this, Erestor finally turns to look at him, and so sees the thoughtful look on Glorfindel's face. "You are not staying?" he asks.

Glorfindel shakes his head. "These must all come as a great shock to you, and I cannot help but blame myself for all of it. I also know, thinking back on how you were all those years ago, that you must feel uncomfortable now and must think you have nowhere else to hide or go." Glorfindel sighs and rubs his eyes. He seems tired, and Erestor just remembered that he came from a long trip from Lothlórien. "That is why I have asked Elrond to give me another set of rooms, so that you may keep this place for the time being. I do not wish to uproot you, and neither do I wish to be in your way." 

"That is generous of you, but it is not necessary." 

The smile Glorfindel directs at him is a rueful one, as though he does not believe Erestor. Erestor then remembers that there must be little he can hide from this Elf. The truth is that he is indeed relieved at the offer, having only lived alone for as long as he can remember. To say so would be rude, however, but it looks like Glorfindel understands without need for much explanation.

"I am all right," he says. "I even insist. There are rooms ready. I only wished to check on you, and ask if I could get a few of my things here. Will that be all right?" 

He seems to look at Erestor for a long time. His eyes scan Erestor's face and, having had his fill, searches even further than this, as though checking him for injuries as thoroughly as the distance between them will allow.

Erestor, of course, recognises concern easily. It is concern from a relative stranger, however, which is something he was never good at receiving, and so he turns away and does not speak, and waits only for Glorfindel to be satisfied with his inspection. He supposes it is understandable for the other to find the need to do so.

After a while, he hears Glorfindel sigh. The other then rises and walks away, and proceeds to go around the room with much familiarity. He opens drawers, takes things from the wardrobe, and looks about the room as though going through a list.

"I will come for the rest when you are not here," Glorfindel says when he is done. Erestor bows his head, feeling suddenly uneasy. He senses Glorfindel approach again, crouching on one knee in front of him to catch his eyes. "Do you feel bad? Do not be. All will be well with me, so you need only worry about what ails you."

"I am sorry," Erestor finds it in himself to say. He wonders what other polite thing he can say that would not be dishonest. He comes up with nothing.

"Do not be. It is I who should apologise." 

"From what little I understand, I can at least say that you are not at fault."

"Difficult to say, isn't it? A curse meant for me." Glorfindel shakes his head before looking up once again at Erestor. "Rest now. It has been a long day. Come find me if you ever need anything, or if there are things you wish to ask. I will do my best to make things easy for you while you recover. Just..."

Erestor notes the wavering in that deep voice. He waits. How ever much the other tries to hide his worry, he is clearly about as shaken as Erestor himself feels, but Erestor knows not how to comfort him. He does not even know what to do with himself.

"Erestor, I pray that you will be well. I cannot rest easy like this... but I know my own worries will do little to help you. But still, I..." 

He trails off and seems to have lost the words. Pitying him - for he supposes that the other suffers loss of his own as well - Erestor says, "Thank you. I feel fine." 

There really is nothing more to say after that. Glorfindel lingers only for a moment, but he soon seems to recognise the exhaustion Erestor forgot to hide. He stands, excuses himself from Erestor, and takes his leave.


	2. Chapter 2

The hours pass fleetingly for Erestor. 

He stays in his room the day after meeting Galadriel. He remembers eating once from a tray left in the sitting room before moving back to bed. Much of that day, he spent sleeping. A small blessing: when he sleeps, he at least still sleeps deeply.

He wakes up the following day in the same room, and finally he tells himself it is no dream. He checks himself and confirms that the clearest days he knows are still in Lindon, in the white walls of the palace and its view of the Sea. It is midday before he rises from bed, but still he does not leave. There is a fresh tray of food in the sitting room again, but he ignores this in the meantime, perusing instead the book shelves that line the walls. He scans the newer ones - 786, 1887, Third Age... it all still look surreal to him - and considers reading one book, a biography of the High King. He thinks on this for a moment, eventually returns it, and picks a book of poetry instead. 

He is awakened on the third day with a knock on the door. He considers not answering - if it was Glorfindel, he can just enter, can he not? - but the knocks come again, more insistently the second time. Erestor rises to answer the door. 

"Are you still moping, Erestor?" 

It is Arwen, Elrond's daughter. She has a flower in her hair and she greets him with a smile. 

"Please let me in," she says in a manner that could probably pass as sweet, if Erestor is one to respond to such a thing. Perhaps he is, or at least used to be, now that he thinks about it.

Though surprised by the visit, he nevertheless steps aside and opens the door to let the lady enter. Arwen strides into the room and goes straight for the thick curtains, opening them wide - to Erestor's dismay, as he quickly shuts his eyes from the bright light - before turning back to face him. 

"I asked Ada, and we believe that you have shut yourself in long enough," she says, her hands on her waist. "Come, these rooms are stifling. Will you not join me for tea?" 

Erestor frowns at the invitation and discretely peers back toward the window behind Arwen.

"You do know that it is tea time by now, don't you?" she asks with a hint of suspicion. 

Finally, Erestor sighs, and regards her with little energy. "I am afraid I am not good company today, my lady." 

"You are not on most days," she says with a laugh, which makes Erestor's eyebrows rise. "But with some coaxing and patience, you usually melt enough to be a little bit pleasant. Now, my dear Lord Erestor, will you not come with me? It is a lovely day." 

Arwen then forces him into the bathing room, orders him to take himself out of yesterday's robes, before leaving him to wait in the sitting room. Not knowing how to get himself out of the situation, Erestor resigns himself to it, and does as he has been told. 

Soon, he finds himself dragged out of his rooms, down the halls with marble floors and out to a handsome patio, with a small set of table and chairs already set for tea. The place is perfectly positioned for it, too, it seems, as it hides in the shade of the main house. All around them hung vines of white and purple morning glories, from the tree branches as well as the treillage that line the space.

"Please sit, Erestor." 

Arwen leads him to one of the chairs and immediately serves him tea. Erestor watches her movements, notes how she does them - one sugar, a dash of milk - and finds that she does indeed know him well.

For all her barging into Erestor's room with nary a warning, Arwen does manage to sit still now that she has Erestor sitting across from her. Here is where Erestor realises that in silence, the girl is quite fair. She has Elrond's high forehead, his dark hair and deep-set eyes, but everywhere else, she has her mother's softness about her. Galadriel he does not see much in her, but no doubt he shall find her in time. 

"May I ask, now that we are here... what is the nature of our acquaintance?" he asks her before taking a sip from his cup. 

Arwen looks up at him and smiles. She seems to have been waiting for him, and most likely, the invitation for tea is also an invitation for Erestor to ask questions. "Here, my lord, you are Ada's chief counsellor," she says, "and so my brothers and I have known you our whole lives. You were also our teacher. You taught me my letters, my history, etiquette and many other things. Nowadays, books and fondness for things like tea and conversation are our common ground." 

"I see," says Erestor. "Then I suppose we do this often." He gestures to the spread before them. 

"Often, yes. With Nana, and sometimes also with Ada and Glorfindel." 

She tips her head, observing him. He does not speak, however, and after a while, she says, "He is terribly upset, you know." 

Erestor stares at the pale brown surface of his tea. He has not seen Glorfindel since that evening, although Erestor supposed that he, along with perhaps everyone else, merely allowed Erestor his space after hearing so shocking a news. 

"I can imagine how one can be, yes," he says eventually into his cup. What can one say to that anyway, knowing what little Erestor knows?

"It is awful, what happened," offers Arwen, her soft voice hardening a little. "What a terrible price to pay after everything that Glorfindel has done. It was not even his battle to win. He led the Elves who gave aid to the Dúnedain, after the legion from Angmar destroyed and captured their lands." 

Erestor's eyes lower at the telling. He knows of a great battle fought only recently, at least based on the bits and pieces he has heard thus far. But he shakes his head at Arwen. "I remember nothing of all these." 

"Glorfindel has ever been the captain of Lindon's armies," says the lady. "You fought together in the great wars, too, from as far back as the age before this one. The age you remember?" She peers gently down to catch his eyes. 

"Aye. I remember only the last age, but only before his coming, it seems." He recites the words as they are the only things he knows about it all. In his mind, however, he feels himself detached from them, as one merely repeats a story he has heard. 

Arwen smiles at him. "You will be all right, Erestor," she says kindly. "You always are, eventually. Never have I seen you at the losing end, be it against Ada, or Glorfindel, or any other force that could compare to them. And this... thing that cursed you - he fled from Glorfindel for fear of him. Surely, you are stronger than what power he possesses." 

Erestor looks at the girl, and finds he is grateful for this show of faith, regardless of whether he believes the words to be true. He has long recognised the affection Arwen holds for him, saw the concern from her and the rest of her family, and while he wonders still how such a thing developed between him and Elrond's kin, he counts it a blessing, at least, to be in this company. 

They are quiet again, and remain that way for a while. Behind the fragrance of the tea, Erestor also senses the leaves and the flowers with every breath he takes. He notes also the scent of fresh water somewhere nearby - everywhere, even, in this refuge hidden in this beautiful valley - and his breath deepens each time, savouring the peace. 

"It is near the time of year again," comes Arwen's gentle voice after some time, "when we go to the orchards to harvest the peaches. You will still come with us, won't you, Erestor?" 

Erestor blinks at her. "Peaches?"

"Oh!" Arwen suddenly looks excited. "They are these wonderful things they tried to grow in Lothlórien. They brought them here in my youth, so of course you would not know them. Now, I do not quite know where Grandmother got them. Somewhere from the east, I think?" She shakes her head. "Well, never mind. The important thing is that they are this soft, wonderful things, and their colour is divine. Although, I admit, you are maybe _not exactly_ as excited about them as we are, but you enjoy the trip. The orchards are a bit far from here, you see." 

"Aah." Erestor cannot help the touch of amusement at the younger one's excitement. "When will this be?" 

"In three days' time, when the week has ended for Ada," she happily replies. "Many people come to pick at their own pace and time, so not everyone goes at the same time, but we here at the main house usually do it together, and so we check each other's schedules like this."

"As you know, mine is rather free."

Arwen claps delightedly. "It is at that, isn't it? We shall see you there, then."

The atmosphere suitably lightened, their conversation quickly devolves to other things. Arwen does much of the talking as she describes the valley to Erestor, tells him stories of her childhood, and other light-hearted things. Once or twice, she even makes him smile, and Erestor thinks that the encounter is not all that unpleasant.

*

The following days are surprisingly busy for Erestor. It seems that the days following Galadriel's visit were given to him so he could recover from the news. After Arwen accosted him, however, it seems the rest of the house followed suit. It became impossible to hole himself in his rooms.

Elrond, leading them, immediately reinstates Erestor as chief counsellor.

"You were part of the council in Lindon, were you not? I don't suppose you lost your intelligence despite all this. Hold up your hands."

When Erestor does so, Elrond promptly brings a heavy stack of parchment on Erestor's waiting arms. The pile is nearly as high as his torso. 

"Your backlog due to the recent commotion," explains the Half-Elf. "Do make yourself useful and see that those are taken care of. 

"Saelbeth," calls Elrond to the Elf standing to one side of his office. Erestor noticed him when he entered, but unable to place his face, ignored him for the most part. "Take Erestor to his office and run him through our most urgent concerns. Erestor, Saelbeth is your assistant. Have him introduce himself further when you are alone." He turns again to Saelbeth. "I want your proposals first thing tomorrow."

"Yes, my lord." 

Elrond gestures at Saelbeth, to which the younger Elf bows, takes the stack from Erestor's hands, and exits the room. 

Once it is just the two of them, Elrond turns again to face Erestor.

"Erestor," he says, some warmth finally seeping into his voice after having just recently barked out his orders. "Old friend, I know you were never one to talk about things even when all looks bleak, but keeping to yourself is unhealthy. Work some, so that you may have something to distract you while we wait this out, or until we find something that could help you get better." He smiles at Erestor. "I think you shall be pleased to find that much of the things you do here are already familiar to you. This is good, as I do not want your mind to be overly tired."

Erestor sighs, recognising Elrond's offer of distractions. "I appreciate it," he tells the other. "I shall get started, then." 

Elrond's smile widens and he seems satisfied, and so lets Erestor leave. Outside Elrond's door still stands Saelbeth, who was waiting for his superior. 

"Master Erestor," he greets with a deep bow, which he manages despite the load he is carrying. "If you would follow me, please, your office is only right over here."

It is this way that Erestor eventually learns about the house and the running of the valley. He has been told a few things since the days after waking disoriented and then during the wait until Galadriel's coming, but it is only now that he finally learns the role - or rather, roles - he plays in all of these things. 

Economics, logistics, military intelligence, communication both external and internal - Erestor goes through the stack with Saelbeth, finding the extent of his responsibilities widening with each upturned document. 

"How is it that I am doing all these?" he asks incredulously. 

"W-What is wrong, my lord?" asks Saelbeth - strangely, a little shakily. He peers at the document Erestor is reading.

"From what I am seeing, this should be overseen by at least four... maybe five Elves," says Erestor, going through another set of parchment. "And you are saying I do all these?" 

"It has always ever been like this, my lord," begins Saelbeth, wringing his hands under his sleeves. "Is it not the same in Lindon? Then, perhaps the difference lies in the size of the settlement? We are growing in Imladris, but we are nowhere near the population of Lindon in its golden years, and so it must be more practical and possible to handle multiple roles this way." At Erestor's thoughtful stare, the assistant nervously adds, "From what I have read, at least. I was born here in Imladris, so I cannot compare." 

"I see." Erestor looks down at the document he happens to be holding - an accounting of projected harvest. "I suppose that makes sense. How many people am I supervising?" 

"Maybe forty now?" 

" _Forty?_ " 

"Although only about seven report directly to you, my lord!" Saelbeth quickly says. "You meet with them regularly. It is all quite manageable, I assure you. If I may..." 

Saelbeth goes through Erestor's desk and extracts a notebook from one of the drawers. He then shows Erestor his set schedule, which he claims Erestor religiously follows. 

"It helps you manage, my lord, or so you say," says the younger Elf. "You could rely on this for the next few weeks, and continue using it for your subsequent meetings." 

Erestor watches as Saelbeth carefully browses through pages in the worn diary, reading items of import out loud for Erestor's benefit. His hands shake in places that Erestor wonders if he is just that sort of person, or whether the clues are straightforward enough: his assistant fears him, it is beginning to seem.

"How long did you say we have been working together?" he asks Saelbeth, who looks up at him upon hearing the question. 

"About... fifty or sixty years now, my lord," he says. 

_That is already a while,_ thinks Erestor. _Yet he still does not seem at ease._

He wonders if this is really the way of things, or if the situation is just novel enough to warrant some care in Saelbeth's part. Still, the other Elf seems intelligent enough and he adequately answers all of Erestor's questions. He decides to take it easy on Saelbeth, so that he does not jump so much each time Erestor speaks. 

Erestor ventures more to explore the things that he is supposed to oversee in the succeeding days. He meets many more Elves, some familiar and some not. This keeps him busy for the most part that he has little opportunity to dwell on the events of the past days.

*

The day they are to ride to the orchards came far too quickly. With so much work foisted on him, the days passed for Erestor one after another. Soon enough, Arwen is at his door again, pulling him this time to the stables.

There, they meet Elrond and the rest of his family, as well as Lindir, the chief minstrel and assistant to Elrond. He is an energetic little thing with the silver hair of the Teleri, though Erestor has heard him once or twice - for he does speak a lot - identify himself as a Sinda. He, like Elrond, had been intent on seeing Erestor back to work, and so they have worked together on a few things in the past days.

"Glorfindel will follow," says Arwen, though Erestor did not ask. They were beginning to set out on their horses. "He is coming from patrol, so it is easier for him to go directly to where the fruit trees grow." 

It is only now that Erestor realises that he has not seen Glorfindel for an entire week. He wonders at this, and wonders suddenly if the other is avoiding him somehow. Things were certainly awkward the last time they spoke, and Erestor had already admitted to himself that things cannot be easy for Glorfindel either. Still... 

He stops himself there, frowning at where that thought was leading. He truly knew not what to feel about the entire thing, be it his supposed spouse's absence or his curiosity toward it. 

The trip is indeed a bit long, nearly an hour by Erestor's estimate. When they arrive at Arwen's orchard - a wide area filled with trees dotted with red-orange fruit - they find that Glorfindel is already there, as well as a few other Elves who are there for the same purpose as they are. The twins greet Glorfindel merrily, obviously in good terms with him, followed shortly by the others. Conscious of his own thoughts just a while back, Erestor stays back a little and lingers beside his horse, taking his time with the reins. He hears the others unpacking and setting out their things for the picnic (" It is tradition," claimed Arwen) and the fruit picking. 

Everyone is soon scattered about, picking out their own trees. Erestor watches Arwen with her brothers, going through obviously familiar motions, bright smiles on their faces. 

He looks around and sighs. Nothing familiar, still. He looks up in his survey of the area, noting that Arien is high up and beating down on them. It is a clear day. 

"Here. You burn terribly in the Sun." 

Erestor turns at the quiet voice that spoke behind him just as a thin wrap is placed around his head. He is surprised to find Glorfindel suddenly standing close, a serious look on his face that Erestor cannot read. He seems to notice Erestor jump at his approach, and so steps back and keeps a good distance between them before showing Erestor how to wear the cloth. It is apparently meant to protect them against the heat of being out early in the afternoon. 

"They insist on doing this at this time of day," says Glorfindel. Here finally, he gives Erestor a small smile. "But we have long ago learned that we are not as hardy against the Sun as the Peredhil." 

"We have to come early because it takes an hour to get to and from here, and there is much to do," says Arwen, hearing Glorfindel's remark. "The trail is difficult getting back, so we want to leave before Arien's setting."

"It's all right as long as they do most of the picking," Celebrían quips. Unlike the rest of her family whose heads remain bare, the fair lady is now also wearing a wrap around her shoulders and head. She cast a sidelong glance at her husband. "Anyway, we are taken care of even with this weather. It is kind of Glorfindel to bring these for everyone." She points at the lacy cloth around her head.

Glorfindel laughs and says to Erestor, "When first I brought these, I nearly brought only for the two of us. But I did not want Elrond in trouble because his wife is the only one without something to wear. The fair lady hardly gets to walk out of the shade of the trees, after all."

"Thank you, Glorfindel," says Elrond with a sour look on his face. "That certainly keeps me from looking like a terrible husband quite well." 

The others laugh at the lord's expense, and here, Erestor cannot help the smile that pulls on his mouth. Jokes at Elrond's expense is familiar territory, after all.

"Then, of course, I had to bring one as well for Lindir," adds Glorfindel a bit more loudly, nodding at the minstrel already busily picking out fruits and loading it into his basket. "Poor thing is about as pale as Erestor, but no one takes care of him."

"Hah! Hilarious, Glorfindel." Lindir scowls and turns to Erestor. "It is their running joke, which I hope you are kind enough not to ride into. I will have you know that my being single is a choice and I am not a child to need a minder. I can also bring my own hood, which I actually do now." At the last part, he pointedly glares at Glorfindel. 

"That was a gift, you ungrateful imp," Glorfindel shoots back. "If you note the style, it is rather classy. Had we left you on your own, no doubt you would have picked something strange and tacky again."

"How dare you!" 

This cry of affront is punctuated with a fallen fruit thrown in Glorfindel's direction. The golden-haired captain turns quickly so it only hits a broad arm, but the fruit bounces off him and hits Erestor's shoulder. It hardly hurt at all, but Glorfindel is suddenly in front of him, checking and rubbing where the fruit hit.

Too fast for Erestor to even react, Glorfindel moves again and rounds on Lindir. "Hey!" he cries out. "Watch where you throw those things!"

"What?" says the minstrel, not looking the least bit apologetic. "I thought my aim was great! Perfect, even, seeing as I hit two."

Glorfindel picks the same fruit and throws it back at Lindir. Elladan and Elrohir, quick to pick up on trouble, share a wide grin and shortly join the fray, throwing fruits at Glorfindel and Lindir alike. With an addition of two, chaos quickly ensues.

"Elladan!" comes Glorfindel's angry cry again. "Are you insane? Don't aim at Erestor!"

"Pick your sides, you pair of loose bows!" shouts Lindir even as he ducks at an oncoming peach. He throws the same to his attacker.

"No, no, no. Stop that right now!" cries Celebrían as she tries to stop her sons. "Those things hurt and they will be a mess to clean up."

"Not to mention a waste of good fruits!" shouts Arwen, who also begins to chase after her brothers. 

Having not fully recovered yet from the exchange with Glorfindel and Lindir, Erestor blinks at scene before him... and eventually lets out a laugh. It is glaringly obvious that the youngest of the Half-Elves has a great love for these strange new fruits, which she has not stopped talking about since she mentioned them to Erestor. Even Glorfindel, that supposed non-stranger of whom Erestor does not yet know how to form his opinion, seems simpler like this, making fun and laughing with friends, with fruit pieces hanging from his hair. The picture they all paint - grown Elves running about, with even the ladies holding their heavier skirts to keep up - is all too much.

A little off to one side, perfectly fine with being forgotten, stands Elrond with an exasperated look on his face. He watches the others for a moment longer before he calmly turns to Erestor, pulling him aside and distancing them both from the on-going war. 

"So," the Half-Elf says conversationally even as he squints one eye at his wife's high-pitched screech. "Have you tried the fruits yet? Galadriel discovered them, and they are rather tasty."


	3. Chapter 3

The peaches were actually very good, and Erestor cannot stop eating them since they returned from the orchards. Arwen, of course, is delighted to learn this, and always brings him a plate of sliced fruits to share whenever opportunity permits it. 

"How strange, though, isn't it? You never really liked them all that much before." She brightens, however, even as she says this. "But I am not complaining. We have plenty, after all, and things are always best enjoyed when they are shared."

It was an off-hand remark that nevertheless did not sit well with Erestor. He was quick to change the subject when it came up. 

He may not be the first to admit it so, but for the most part, he has attempted to avoid matters regarding his lost memories. There were few times in his life that he could remember being at so grave a disadvantage, one that is even unheard of among the Elves. It is not something he wishes to dwell in just yet. 

There are, however, still a few other things that catch him off-guard. Sorting through correspondences, he notices something odd, and so calls Saelbeth to his office.

"Could you get me a map, please?" 

His assistant was quick enough to fetch him a detailed map of the lands. Erestor scans them and, with a sinking feeling, notes the changes. Most glaringly...

"What happened to Númenor?" 

"It... is no longer there, my lord." Saelbeth says uncertainly, though he does step closer to look at the map from the other side of Erestor's desk. "There was an event involving the Valar and the land was revoked from the Secondborn when it all ended. We have a report here somewhere, not to mention books on the matter, prepared by members of your staff before me, as I have not yet been born when it all happened. Would you like me to find it?" 

Erestor could not believe the reports that Saelbeth later brought. He sits himself slowly in his chair, eyes scanning the pages. Their greatest allies, now gone. Of course, it is not the first time that the lands have changed. He had known it when they gradually lost Beleriand, had known the earth-shaking war when the host of the Valar came to their lands in the east. He knows not which is worse now of the two: half of the continent sinking in the First Age, or this here now, the favoured children's fall from grace and the subsequent sundering of Aman. 

"Run me down all the realms in these days," he says to Saelbeth, half-dazed. 

He now walks the halls still in that daze, a stack of scrolls in his arms and his head filled with things he forced himself to listen to in detail for the first time. Few names rang any bells, and of those familiar ones, they now come with stories far too foreign. His head began to hurt part-way, but he did not tell Saelbeth, and instead only excused himself in the guise of wishing to run by a few things with Elrond.

It therefore takes him a while to notice the voices behind Elrond's door. It is only when he hears his name mentioned that he looks up and stops.

"In the first place, I was never in favour of you leaving your rooms," he hears Elrond say. "At best, I expected you to sleep separately, perhaps ease him into the idea of having a spouse. Instead, you leave him alone to fend for himself." 

Erestor's back straightens. Then, it must be that the other person in the room is...

"On top of everything he has to deal with, you would foist that on him, too?" comes Glorfindel's voice this time. His voice is louder than Elrond's, a bit heightened and strained. "He is taken care of; Arwen sees to that. I am thankful for your daughter, for happily she does it." 

Erestor's gaze drops to the light from the gap beneath the door. So that explains it. She is a persistent girl.

"Elrond, you of all people know how private he is. I even remember him being worse before. Back then, I never even knew where his rooms were until years in our acquaintance." 

"So, what? You will just allow him to live in that same comfortable idea that is now leagues away from what his life is now like? We need to ease him back, Glorfindel, not coddle him with false environments. That is, unless you are easing your way out of your marriage, in which case I will say that you are doing a splendid job."

Silence descends upon the two inside the room, leaving Erestor to wonder about all that he has heard.

He has thought relatively little about Glorfindel. Save for the few times that they saw one another, the last being that time with everyone else at the orchard, he did not see the other Elf all that often. Now it turns out that the reason for this is that Glorfindel was indeed consciously avoiding him. 

The absence does strike him now as strange, though the truth is that he likely would have been more troubled by it, had he seen more of Glorfindel. Thinking back, there were a few times then that he noticed the Vanya - a _Vanya_ , for the Valar's sake, in this day and age - and grew conscious of his presence. He is a striking Elf, broad and taller than most. His light is brighter than any Erestor has seen, rivaled only by perhaps Galadriel when they stood side by side. He called far too much attention and is not at all someone Erestor can imagine picking for himself, if only because being with such a person probably entailed a life that was far from quiet. For him to be so personally related to such an Elf... it all just seemed unbelievable.

And so instead, Erestor's days have thus far been filled with learning about Imladris, learning about events in Middle-Earth since the time they say he lost his memories. If he ever thought and noted that Glorfindel's manner with him seemed too fond and affectionate despite the other's attempt to keep things civil, it was never something Erestor pointed to himself. All questions had been about his surroundings, with very little questions about himself and personal matters. 

In the end, perhaps Glorfindel is not the only one practising avoidance. 

"Of course not," comes Glorfindel's voice again. This time, it comes out low, so that Erestor has to strain to hear it. "That is the last thing I want, but you know how he was when first I came. I just... I thought we were done with all of that, Elrond. Do you have any idea what it was like for me all those years, to just-- what if he becomes like that again? What if he _is_ like that again?"

"Glorfindel. I do not think that his dislike for you at that time was personal. He believed your coming was an omen. He was counsellor to the king; they were trained to be careful and suspicious. He could not have thought that you yourself were at fault, only that he cannot like what you represented."

Glorfindel laughs, but it sounds harsh through the walls. "Right. _'The hand of the Valar'._ Coming to let all know that great evil is ahead and that it is something they cannot handle on their own. Elbereth, he was such a--" He pauses and Erestor purses his lips, imagining what words the other likely kept himself from saying. "That did not stop him, did it?" comes Glorfindel's voice again. "And I do think that he did believe everything he said about me and came to genuinely dislike me. We certainly fought enough, said the worst of things. What a mountain to leap past - by the time we were done, you already had three children."

"Well, what does he have against you now? We are at a time of peace." 

"How about being the face of the stranger he is suddenly told he wed?" 

Elrond makes a noise of impatience. "What is the problem? Then he should get to know you. He chose you for himself - that is something of value, if his own opinion means anything to him." 

"Tell him that, not me." 

"Why don't _you_ remind him about it? The way things stand, it is rather embarrassing that you are letting a third party tell you how to handle your marriage."

Silence again. Erestor realises he has been standing there long enough and begins to consider leaving, if the conversation seems like it would last a while. Besides, it is about personal matters and he should not be eavesdropping, albeit they were talking about things related to him.

"Who would have thought it?" he hears Elrond say again. "All faces of evil imaginable have you known and fought against, but the thing you run from is the very face that had you besotted the moment you introduced yourself to the king's council."

"Do not tease, Peredhel. Now is a bad time for it "

Elrond's sigh is loud enough to be heard behind his closed door. "Look, Glorfindel. This is not even about just Erestor anymore. How are you coping? You look worse by the day."

Erestor's gaze lifts, eyes straying to the wall separating him from two lords inside the room. 

"I am fine," is Glorfindel's clipped reply.

"This is the third time this week that you have come to the healing halls asking for aid - do not think I do not hear about it from the other healers - and it has been more than a month now since your return. It is no longer healthy."

"It cannot be helped. I am hoping that it would only be like this in the beginning, until I get used to things." 

"You are optimistic." Elrond does not sound impressed. "And foolish. But anyway..." He pauses, and there is a noise behind the door that Erestor could not place. "Who is there? You may come in."

Erestor jumps at this, realising it was he who was just addressed. Had he been careless? But that matters little now that an invitation was sent his way. 

He clears his throat and turns to latch on Elrond's door. 

"Pardon me for disrupting you," he says as he enters. "I heard you talking and I was considering to just return later."

"It's quite all right," says Elrond, beckoning him in. Erestor briefly catches Glorfindel's eyes - as they have always done, they watch him intently as he moves across the room - before he looks back at Elrond. 

"It is nothing pressing," he tells the Half-Elf. "I only have a few questions about those reports you forwarded this morning, but they can wait."

"I was just leaving." Glorfindel stands from his place on the chair across Elrond's desk. He is wearing tunic and leggings fit for riding, and looks like he had just returned from some time outdoors. Once again, Erestor notes his height; he stands a clear head above both him and Elrond. "You are looking well. That is good."

Glorfindel's smile for him is warm. His eyes, however, tend to stray, doing that thing again where he seems to scan Erestor's face. Doing those checks.

"Go now, Captain, as he obviously cannot say the same about you. Silence would be most polite." 

Glorfindel sighs and turns exasperated eyes at Elrond. "Thank you for that unsolicited comment." He turns back to Erestor. "Do not let him overwork you." 

A broad hand lifts and seems to hover for a while as Glorfindel considers what to do. It is only a split-second, and in the end his hand lands on Erestor's shoulder - a friendly pat - before he is stepping out of the room.

Erestor hands Elrond the scrolls he brought with him and stands to the side, waiting for the other to check which ones they are. But even as Elrond peruses the scrolls, a waiting silence reigns between them, one Erestor recognises from his long friendship with the other Elf-lord. 

"How long did you know that I was standing there?"

"Since you arrived." 

Erestor takes a deep breath. Insufferable Half-Elf.

"What is the matter with him?" 

"That depends. Are you concerned?" 

Erestor is perhaps more curious than concerned, although that is not to say that he is completely devoid of the latter sentiment. "Some," he says. "He is... being who he is, and it does involve me to a certain extent, does it not?" 

"Well, that is good of you to realise, for that Elf has been grossly neglected in recent days!" Elrond drops the scroll unceremoniously upon the wood of his desk, briefly glaring up at Erestor. He reins it in eventually, however, enough to calmly say, "But even if I wished to tell you, it is not my place to do so. I'm afraid you will have to ask him."

He seems thoughtful for a while. "However, I do not think it out of line to say this, him being 'who he is' to you, after all..." Elrond looks pointedly at Erestor. In the next moment, his gaze softens and he sighs. "He is not well, Erestor. Nowhere near it, and to an extent that I want him back in your rooms. Thoughts?" 

Erestor looks up at this, surprised. "Why?" 

"Because he needs to be there."

"What does a difference in rooms matter?"

Elrond frowns up at him. "Surely, you were not this dense... no, never mind. You actually were." He shakes his head and gestures for Erestor to sit. It is now Erestor's turn to sigh; this does not bode well.

"Erestor, understand: Glorfindel feels guilty for what happened to you, and I believe he now spends his time gathering what news he can about the one who did this to you. Not to mention, he is grieving for a spouse that is, in a way, lost. Before all this, he has been preoccupied in recent years, called to and from Mithlond and all remaining Elven realms and even, at times, to the scattered settlements of the Dúnedain. And after the battle? He comes home to find himself further sundered from his husband whom he had been looking forward to seeing since Fornost and his subsequent stay in Lothlórien. He takes himself once again from his home, his familiar place, and is moved to a new environment where he now lives alone. How do you think he can be well?"

Erestor has nothing to say to this, though he sits straight in the chair across Elrond. This is, after all, the first time that he has heard this story. Elrond watches him for a moment, his voice growing softer and kinder.

"I feel sorry for him, I suppose you could say. If you remember Galadriel mentioning it, you and Glorfindel have not been married long - a mere few decades. In comparison, the courtship took an eternity. I do not think that the both of you have fully settled yet, and so this separation is troublesome." Another sigh as Elrond leans back against his chair. "But of course, tell me if you do not wish it. It is hardly something I can force upon you."

Erestor folds his arms around himself, his gaze shifting to the bright afternoon outside Elrond's windows. "I... never knew." He purses his lips, remembers the pallor beneath that crown of golden hair. "Nowadays, I stay in those rooms not knowing where else to go. I have learned to take comfort from their privacy. But..."

He finds he does not know how to say it. The headache that he brought with him seems to have grown worse, and he wants to just leave. Elrond, at least, seems to recognise this and pulls back.

"For now, I shall cling to that 'but'," he says. "Just reflect on it when you can. In any case, Glorfindel still refuses to 'inconvenience' you, as he calls it, so you are safe for a while." He observes Erestor now, his brows furrowing with concern. "And? What about you, my friend? How goes things?" 

Erestor feels suddenly tired as he leans to one armrest, his forehead on the tips of his fingers. "I am learning still," he says. He remembers the events of that afternoon, why he even came here to begin with, and he closes his eyes. "I am sorry about Númenor." 

Elrond does not immediately speak. His gaze lowers to the scrolls on his desk, lingers there a while, before moving up again to Erestor. "So that has come up. How?"

"I noticed that none of our correspondences were addressed to nor from it. I even hoped that the name merely changed. I asked Saelbeth." Silence again, and Erestor sighs. "Elrond, everything that Elros began..." 

"I grieved that, too, when they fell," says the Half-Elf. He, too, turns to the scene outside his windows. "It is a strange world - anywhere, at any time you lower your guard at a time of peace, evil finds ways to remind you that it only lurks somewhere you cannot see, behind shadows and even unexpected things." He meets Erestor's eyes again, but instead of the hard gaze Erestor expects, there is a calm in Elrond's eyes. What shadows the land's downfall may have brought, it seems he has at least found some peace with it. "My brother's line lives, though it is no longer in that great land in the middle of the Sea. Not all is lost."

*

Erestor's respite comes too quickly, for mere days since that last overheard conversation, he is called urgently to the healing wing.

When he arrives, he finds Elrond there with Glorfindel. The latter has his back to the door, but Erestor recognises him by the golden hair tied in a messy tail down his back. He is bare from the waist up, for a white bandage is tied around his left shoulder and upper back. 

Elrond looks up as Erestor enters. His face is grave; Erestor can see that Elrond has fast lost his patience. "We spoke about the matter of rooms. I need your answer."

Erestor frowns, surveying the scene. "What happened?"

"This idiot ran into an Orc's blade, that is what happened." The Half-Elf disappears behind Glorfindel again. "What was it, Glorfindel? The lack of sleep? Worsening reflexes? Perhaps you were purposely getting yourself killed - though an Orc is a bit anti-climactic after a Balrog, if you ask me."

Glorfindel grunts his own impatience. Clearly, there must have been another long conversation before Erestor arrived. 

"Of course not, and I wish you would not force the matter. I already said it can be managed, and you are fussing over a minor wound. I had injuries worse than this."

"I believe we would rather not have you with any injuries at all, Captain." Erestor sees the look of surprise on Glorfindel's face at having been addressed by him. To be fair, Erestor had directly spoken to him little during their encounters. He steps further inside the rooms, turning to Elrond as he draws nearer. "What _is_ going on?" 

"Among other things that Glorfindel himself should tell you, our captain here is coping with his personal problems with an age-old tactic: drowning himself in work." Elrond must be terribly upset; his sentences are growing long and caustic. He looks down again at Glorfindel. "While such a thing is fairly common, given your occupation, this is ill-advised. Right now, I have about half a mind to suspend you from you duties."

"Over a shoulder wound?" 

"It is called risk prevention, which you would recognise if you have the other half of your brain working as it should." Elrond stands, but he glares down still at his captain. "You are on desk and training duty until I clear you. Have a deputy lead the patrols in the meantime. As for the both of you..." He directs his ire to Erestor now as well, who falters at suddenly being pulled into trouble. "I do not know how long you plan to keep this up. I suggest you sit down and talk it out, unless you wish to share rooms and just let the days pass in awkward silence. That really is no longer my problem."

It is only now that Erestor realises that Elrond must be exhausted as well, constantly checking in on two senior officers who are not performing up to par.

He squares his shoulders, finally making up his mind. "It's fine," he tells Glorfindel, who immediately protests.

"No, it isn't. You do not have to." 

"I take it all other options have been exhausted, and with little merit, by the looks of things." Erestor nods at the bandages around Glorfindel. "All things considered, I am saying that it is fine. Elrond would not insist like this if it was nothing serious. Why don't you just see if it would be effective?"

"It is not really a question of efficacy..." Glorfindel rubs a hand down his face, resignation clear in the slump of his shoulders. In front of him, Elrond stands looking unimpressed, his arms folded and looking as though he would comment again at any time. Glorfindel heaves a great sigh. "I can... thank you. I can sleep in the sitting room, so you need not worry." 

"You can just have two beds set up in your rooms," offers Elrond.

Glorfindel, however, just shakes his head. "The sofa in the sitting room is fine. It is wide and can take my height. We picked it for sleeping, and anyway, I sleep there often."

A pause follows, without intent on Erestor's part, but Elrond's silence is telling.

Glorfindel looks up at him in disbelief and throws up his good hand. "I meant that I fall asleep there often, for naps and things. What is that look for?"

Elrond smirks. "What, did I look like I was judging your marriage?"

"You did, actually."

"Be honest: it is not that difficult for us to imagine."

"I was happily married, I assure you."

"So you keep saying. Well, to each his own, as I like to say. Let it not be said I did not warn you before the wedding." As an afterthought, the Half-Elf looks up and smiles amusedly at Erestor. "No offense, old friend."

Erestor, who was following that last exchange with increasing curiosity, returns the smile with his own flat one. "None taken."

*

Glorfindel arrives that evening, immediately with his apology. "I am sorry about this. If you changed your mind, that is perfectly--

"I already said it's fine." Erestor opens the door a bit wider, allowing the other to pass.

He did not know if the other meant it when he said he was fine in the sitting room. The best he could do, therefore, was to prepare the pillows and fresh linen, and just wait for Glorfindel to set them up wherever he prefers.

As had been agreed upon, Glorfindel proceeds to clear the sofa, replacing the small pillows with the larger one Erestor brought out. Even the smaller cloth that draped over it is removed, folded neatly and stacked with the pillows beside the sofa. 

Intrigued, Erestor watches Glorfindel go about it all with much familiarity. It is not the first time he has seen it, for there was also that time when Glorfindel went about the bedroom looking for his things. Yet even now, it is interesting to watch, this proof that this Elf did indeed reside here, in the same rooms that housed Erestor's things. 

He sits on the little ottoman, watching as Glorfindel finally seems to settle down. The golden one stares at his work, the covers bunching across his lap, and heaves a sigh. Unlike others Erestor has seen from him, however, this one appears relieved, as though it brought out with it a heavy weight that the other has thus far been carrying. 

"Having trouble sleeping?" Erestor ventures enough to ask.

Glorfindel looks surprised by the question. "How did you know?"

Erestor nods at him. "Your colouring is a bit bad and your eyes are sunken. Elrond mentioned it earlier and I figured it was not a one time thing, since you frequent the healers. You must have been asking for herbs."

Glorfindel huffs out a surprised laugh. "Still sharp, I see." He ducks his head, rubbing a hand behind it in that old sign of embarrassment. "How awful. To think that you would see me in so unflattering a light." 

Erestor's eyebrows rise slightly at this, but he does not comment. He had not thought that his opinion could be a cause for concern, but then again, they were supposed to be... what they were.

"Listen, Erestor." Glorfindel looks up again to catch his eyes. "I know you say now that it is all right, but if at any time it no longer is, you must tell me. If you have any misgivings at all in this moment, I would rather you tell me now than for me to know how it is again when you..."

He trails off. "When I?" prompts Erestor.

Glorfindel sighs again. "Let's just say we had a bit of history, and I am in no way, shape, or form able to endure it if we ever return to such interactions. So do not keep any ill remark for too long, lest it festers in your mind and... you know, come out worse."

Erestor considers asking. The clues he has thus far heard are enough to let him know that theirs had not been an easy journey. Glorfindel obviously has several things he still worries about, however better he does look in this old sitting room. But Erestor is also hesitant to open any cans of worms at this point, given the state of them both. 

"I agreed to this. I see no reason why I should be unpleasant about it." 

Glorfindel, again, looks surprised. "Right," he says slowly. "That... that is a relief."

The evening has grown late, as Erestor notes Ithil's light from the shadow of the trees outside. "I shall excuse myself now, if you do not mind," he says, standing up. "Let me know if there is anything else you need."

"Nothing more, I am all right now." Glorfindel smiles again. Though he looks tired, it still brightens up his face. "Good night, Erestor." 

"Good night, Glorfindel."


	4. Chapter 4

With Glorfindel's injury, he was ordered to rest for the succeeding days, which meant that much of his time was spent in their rooms. If Erestor expected things to be uncomfortable, however, this was surprisingly not so.

He went about his days as he always had, reporting to Elrond and being pulled every which way by Saelbeth and that pesky appointment book of his ("You taught me that things should be like this, Master Erestor!"). But now, whenever he returns to their rooms, Glorfindel would be there - usually engrossed in a book, which was something that, admittedly, surprised Erestor at first. What amused him most of all, however, is how Glorfindel looked like at such times - sitting on his sofa in front of the fire with the blankets all around him, he looked almost like a child stooped down over a book, except, with his size, the look is almost comical.

"You look comfortable," remarks Erestor on the second day that he finds Glorfindel this way.

Glorfindel looks up from his book and smiles at him. "I am."

It is still a strange setup, but every time he thinks to point it out, he only need look at Glorfindel and the words stop in his mouth, unable to leave. There is some colour now in the other Elf's cheeks, as every once in a while, Erestor even catches him asleep. He wonders at this, for he even once caught the other napping when he had to take something from the rooms one afternoon. Up until the third day, it is not clear just yet what Elrond meant when he said that Glorfindel had difficulty sleeping. Perhaps the Half-Elf is right and it is just the shock of it all that bothered Glorfindel, and that moving out of their rooms had not been the best thing at the time.

It is on the third night, however, that Erestor finally understands. Sitting by the window in the study, a book on his lap and Ithil shining high in the sky, he hears a noise from the other room. He goes out to the sitting room to investigate. Although Glorfindel did not mention it - why he did not at least warn Erestor, Erestor does not know - it becomes clear enough why he is losing sleep.

"Glorfindel. Glorfindel, wake up."

It takes a while. Every muscle is tensed and even in the dim light, Erestor can see the sweat on the other's hair and brow, and even down his neck. His groans come deep from his throat, and his face looks as though he is in terrible pain.

Erestor tries shaking him again, more urgently this time. "Glorfindel."

In the next moment, Glorfindel is awake, eyes wide and suddenly focused as he grabs and holds on to Erestor's arms.

"Erestor?"

"Yes. You were dreaming." Erestor quickly checks him, only just realising... "You are also bleeding."

Glorfindel turns his gaze on his shoulder and immediately curses.

"No, sit still," Erestor quickly says when the other made to sit up. "Did Elrond give you any spare bandages? Where are they?"

"My pack." Glorfindel grits his teeth as the pain now looks like it is beginning to register to him. "There is a package there where he put the herbs and the bandages."

Erestor checks the pack and lights a candle in quick order. He finds that Glorfindel has bled through his shirt, and so he also quickly finds a cloth and a basin of water, where he crushes some of the herbs he found inside the package Elrond sent.

"We do not have the time to warm the water, so bear with it for now."

Glorfindel had begun peeling back a bit of the old bandages from around his chest. Erestor quickly takes over for him, as it is also obvious that Glorfindel is having a difficult time of it, his injury allowing him minimal movement. The tea for the pain must also have worn off.

Erestor mutters a curse as he realises this. He drops the bandages back on Glorfindel's good hand - "But do not move, I will only be just a moment" - before he is rising and crossing the room to check the teapot on the table. He empties out its contents, replaces the water and throws in a handful of the tea leaves in Glorfindel's pack, and places the pot on one of the logs in the fireplace.

"I do not think that pot is meant to do that," grunts Glorfindel when Erestor returns to his side.

"If it breaks, it breaks. If it does not, then you have tea for the pain."

Glorfindel winces as he seems to ride through a spasm. "Good... good thinking. I must have pulled something because this hurts like the pits."

Erestor adjusts the candles so he can better see. "This wound looks bad," he remarks even as he cleans out the blood in the surrounding area.

"Yes, well... It was a rather nasty sword."

"You called this a minor wound. In the end, I believe Elrond is right for keeping you off the field."

Glorfindel remains silent after that, and so Erestor just gets back to work. After a while, he rises to check the tea and pours some for Glorfindel, who gratefully takes the cup from Erestor's hand. They work quietly for a while, the only sounds in the room the shuffling of the bandages and Glorfindel sipping past the steam of his tea.

"It is done, but it is barely adequate," says Erestor of his work a little while later. With the adrenaline of the moment now fading, he realises that his hand remains rested on Glorfindel's arm. Slick still with cold sweat, strength nevertheless emanates from it, the muscles hard beneath Erestor's fingers. He quickly pulls his hand away and averts his eyes, strangely conscious now that things are calmer. He restrains himself from unnecessarily clearing his throat, and instead begins to tidy things up to keep himself occupied. "You should get that replaced tomorrow," he adds.

"Thank you." Glorfindel's hold on the cup is still tight, and the pain seems to distract him still that he does not notice Erestor's discomfort. "And I am sorry again; it seems like all I say to you nowadays are apologies. It is always sincere though, and I am truly sorry that I inconvenienced you again. I must have woken you, haven't I?"

"It is all right. I was not asleep. I actually do not sleep all that often."

"I thought you were rather fond of sleeping."

"I am, considering that I can do so little of it."

Glorfindel looks at him strangely. "But you sleep every night."

Erestor finally looks at him again. He is once again reminded that much time has passed, long enough for things to change. Can it be that sleeping is no longer a problem for him in this age? Long has it been since he can last remember any good year for sleeping and besides, here he is again, unable to do so. Briefly, he wonders if he just somehow found a cure for it over the years - a ritual, perhaps, that he is no longer doing since the curse - or if, in fact, this near-miracle of peaceful nights had anything to do with the Elf before him.

*

Erestor told Elrond about Glorfindel's nightmares the next day.

"Why did you not tell me?" he asks Elrond.

"A healer does not divulge a patient's condition unless given leave to do so. Spouses, I find, are usually the ones most offended by this rule."

It was a simple comment on Erestor's part, of course, and not in any way done in the role of a spouse. The thought did not even cross his mind, for often such a detail still feels distant in his mind, and is thus easily forgotten. Besides, Elrond looked far too amused, which told Erestor that the other had been merely teasing him at the time.

Still, even now, the Half-Elf's antics are distracting him at work. There is a book about Glorfindel on Erestor's desk, mocking him with its gaudy golden-yellow cover. Elrond gave it to him that morning; it seemed like a joke at the time, but knowing Elrond, there must be some double purpose to the thing.

He does not know which is more ridiculous: learning about one's (supposed) spouse from a book, or even hesitating to do so. There has to be something wrong with that picture, but then again, how many people have died long enough to have biographies written about them, only to return after so many years to continue living a life beyond them?

The very idea of Glorfindel is just one unbelievable thing after another.

Inevitably, Erestor does pick up the book. He sits himself by the large window in his office where the light is good for reading. He reads through the first page - he winces at the writing style, noting another passionate historian unrestrained with a quill - and endures it for a while, in case the book had any merit.

This is how Elrond later finds him.

"You look like that book is giving you hives," says the Lord of the Valley.

"The prose is bad." Erestor sighs, frowning still at the pages. "That aside, he is... a bit of an over-achiever, isn't he?"

"Glorfindel?" He hears Elrond's curious hum. "A little bit, yes."

*

They have a few peaceful nights before Erestor is once again waking Glorfindel from the throes of another nightmare.

"I dream of my final hours," Glorfindel later tells him. The captain is sitting up on his make-shift bed, rubbing the haze of sleep from his bloodshot eyes. "Back then, the dreams started around the time Sauron rose. Morgoth's Maiar shall forever be the bane of my existence, it would seem."

"You have them often?" asks Erestor.

"Not too often, but enough for me to dread them when I sleep, so that for a while, I only slept when I had to."

"But I thought you returned well and new."

"That is what I thought, too." Glorfindel shifts with his knees up and bent, where he can rest his forehead even as he tiredly recounts the story to Erestor. "Elrond thinks that the dreams are a product of my memories being intact, and that perhaps this kind of thing every once in a while is inevitable. He said that we are all haunted by our own shadows - kept at bay on most days, only rising up in strength when we are vulnerable and weak1. Sure enough, when I found my ground and became used to battle again, the dreams stopped."

Erestor watches him curiously. "And... do they return often?"

Glorfindel shakes his head. "A few times, few and far in between over the years. Not again in this age, I would even say. Most of the time, the scene feels distant, as though I am merely watching someone else battle with a Balrog, and so I awaken with just a foul mood."

"That does not seem to be the case now."

"No. Now it disrupts my sleep, disrupts my work. It is becoming intolerable, but even herbs for dreamless sleep only work half the time."

Glorfindel frowns even as he is stooped down. His breathing has become calmer, but some bits of hair still stick to his temples and to his neck, the remaining signs of his earlier ordeal.

"Should I wake you sooner?" offers Erestor.

Glorfindel finally looks up at him. Every once in a while, Erestor notes that he says things that seem to surprise Glorfindel. He sometimes has to wonder if it truly is so out of character for him to make such offers, or if Glorfindel is just the kind of person who does not often ask for help.

"I cannot ask you that," Glorfindel says.

This time, it is Erestor who shakes his head. "I told you, I do not really sleep all that much. Perhaps... perhaps you can even take the bed when I am not using it."

"No. Really, Erestor, I cannot."

"I hardly use it, though."

Glorfindel shakes his head again. "I like it here. I have always seen this thing as my own." He rubs his hand thoughtfully against one arm of the sofa. "That bed, though... I find it too large to sleep in alone."

It is one of those things that Glorfindel sometimes says that Erestor does not know how to answer. With such a thing, too, he cannot possibly insist on the issue, and so he merely stands and fixes his robes.

"The offer stands, if you change your mind. As for when your sleep is disturbed, if I am up, I can wake you."

*

With work piling up, it takes some time for Erestor to pick up Elrond's book again. He finally finds a week when the load seems lighter, and so he spends the end of that week sitting by the window again to finish the book.

As he had expected, all it left him were even more questions and a massive headache.

"Did he really fight in the War of the Wrath?" 2 he later asks Elrond, after they have concluded a meeting in the Elf-lord's office.

Elrond's smile is an amused one. "So he said. Apparently, he was already reimbodied by then."

"That is fast," says Erestor skeptically.

"It is fast. There must have been very little for Mandos to have to work with." Elrond laughs at this. "Glorfindel has always struck me as a bit of a simple Elf; he probably did not have much issues in life. He lived in Valinor for some time before the call for aid came. Of course, with the call coming from my father, whom Glorfindel protected himself, Glorfindel had to come."

Erestor nods slowly, assuming as much. "But he returned to Valinor after the war."

"He did. He would not come to Middle-Earth again until two thousand years."

Part of Erestor still cannot believe it. He did not even think such a thing was possible - falling so that the spirit separates from the body, only to rise again from Mandos and sail back to these lands of the Noldor and the Nandor. He supposes that, technically, it is not possible, except by decree of Lord Manwë himself, but even this has his mind reeling.

"And..." he continues, reviewing the story with Elrond, "when he did come back, Gil-galad gave him Lindon's armies... within a year of his return?"

"Correct. I was relieved. I was never fond of leading that huge thing - though I did remain as Ereinion's herald - and neither was Círdan. At the time, it was clearly the right thing to do. As far as matters concerning the army and its duties go, Glorfindel is truly of a different level, be it in the open field with a great battalion behind him or in missions requiring stealth. I suppose living in the time that he did, and for so long in Gondolin, would train you for those things. And well, that training aside, from what I understand, Glorfindel was already a military genius to begin with.

"Truth be told, to be captain of a group as small as Imladris is a significant step-down. But, Glorfindel seems happy about it, especially as it finally allowed him time for more personal things and to settle down."

Elrond's smile is far too amused at the expression on Erestor's face. "So," says the Half-Elf when his chief counsellor remains silent. "How did you find it? Was it educational?"

"That book reads like a fairy tale."

Elrond laughs. "Yes, I thought so, too. Seeing as I know how much you _enjoy_ biased narratives, that book was an obvious choice." The absolute glee on the Elf-lord's face is irritating. "The facts are mostly there, though, if you set aside the flowery prose. Historians are usually fans of the characters they write, so we cannot really help that."

Erestor sighs. "How in Arda did I end up married to such a..." He pauses, wincing at the thought.

"Legend?" supplies Elrond, who promptly bursts out laughing at the pained look Erestor gives him. "Mostly, I have always thought it was because you never seemed all that impressed with him." He observes Erestor for a moment. "Until now, that is."

"How could I have missed it?"

"It is more that you refused to see it." Elrond laughs again. "Elbereth, you hated him when he first came. You could not believe his credentials and you thought his assignment as Lindon's captain was premature. Stubborn old fool, you truly were the most difficult of Elves. In turn, Glorfindel would then have to be the most patient person I know. I guess that goes with the territory, and I did say he is a bit of a simple Elf. He took a liking to you when first he came, and that..." Elrond makes a vague gesture with his hand, "as they say, is that."

*

Another night, they have a chess board set up after Glorfindel expressed that he no longer wished to go back to sleep. Erestor does not ask, but it seems that this night is a particularly bad one for the golden-haired Elf.

The chess set is something he found in the study a few days ago. It does not seem to have been used in a while, but it is a handsome set made of what looks like blackwood and maple. Seeing Glorfindel up, he remembered the game and offered it as a distraction.

"Did we play often?" Erestor asks shortly after they began.

"A few times. This set is yours and mostly, you played with Elrond." Having seemed to have calmed down, Glorfindel chuckles, quietly, almost to himself. "It is a silly thing, but I used to be so jealous of him. You spent much of your time with Elrond, even your leisure hours."

"We are old friends, from as far back as a time of turmoil. To feel at ease with him even at a time of peace is only natural. There is nothing between us beyond this."

"Oh, I know. I knew, watching you both long enough. But a mind in love can hardly be rational, can it? One cannot help such foolish thoughts."

Erestor looks up, surprised at such a casual admission. Glorfindel said it so flippantly, and he even looks still at the board now, smiling in that soft way as though there is something that lingers in his mind, one that he is reliving with much fondness. Erestor watches him curiously; Glorfindel does not even seem to realise what it was that he said.

They play a while, discussing inconsequential things. Glorfindel tells Erestor about his day - Elrond had finally given him leave to at least attend to the practice fields. In turn, Erestor tells him about the concerns recently raised in council.

"Counsellor Esgarion is a bit strange," he confides. "He recommends such strict criteria before giving clearance to the traders, but the worse part is that he often looks at me as though he expects me to agree with him."

This remark makes Glorfindel laugh. "Actually, perhaps that is because you usually did used to agree with him."

Erestor pauses. "Oh."

Eventually, the game does end with Glorfindel tipping back his king.

"That, I think, is why you do not play with me often. Rare are the days that I can win."

"To be fair, I usually win against Elrond, too." Erestor smiles, recalling such times. "He sometimes throws me off by making moves that make no sense, but it is doubly risky for him, as those manoeuvres also leave him open to attack."

Glorfindel laughs again. "I know; I have seen you both play. You are a dangerous opponent."

"It is only chess," Erestor says modestly. "Outside of this, I expect you are the more dangerous one."

They agree to play another round, but despite his earlier words, Glorfindel yawns, clearly exhausted. Erestor does not think about it too long when he says, "You could sleep again. Would you like me to sit with you?"

Again, this surprises Glorfindel, for he stops mid-stretch. He blinks at Erestor.

He does not speak for such a long time that Erestor begins to doubt his own offer. "No, never mind. Forget I asked," he says, and begins setting up the board again.

Glorfindel quickly stops him. "No, will you? You do not have to sit anywhere near me, just be where I can see you." He smiles ruefully as he pulls his hand away from where he touched Erestor's wrist. "I know, it must be strange for you, an Elf you hardly know in your rooms, finding comfort in your presence. But I will not pass on this offer, not unless you changed your mind and realise you do not wish to do it after all."

"I do not really mind."

It probably should have struck him stranger than it feels. Glorfindel is right; on a normal day, to be saddled with an Elf he barely knows, one staying in his rooms at that, would have bothered Erestor. "Bothered" would even be an understatement. Glorfindel, however, has a way about him that had Erestor feeling at ease with him sooner than he would expect.

He turns this thought over in his mind a while more, so that even as Glorfindel gets ready to ease his way inside the covers again, he eventually still catches Erestor looking.

"What is it?" he asks.

Erestor, with his chin previously leaning on his hand as he sat in his usual place on the ottoman, straightens in his seat. "Nothing. I was just thinking."

Glorfindel tilts his head, smiling. "Of me?"

Only mildly surprised at the quip, Erestor gives him a thin-lipped smile. "Keep at it, Captain. I have about half a mind to return to my room and shut the door."

Glorfindel grunts and turns, lying with his back to him and grumbling about old Elves who cannot take a joke. Erestor, meanwhile, takes the book he was reading and sits on a nearby armchair.

That is the first night Erestor sits with Glorfindel. Glorfindel sleeps until morning, and does not dream.

*

Arwen pulls Erestor out of the house one day, claiming that she craves sunlight and freshly baked bread. This is how Erestor finds himself in one of the shops in Imladris, where the light is warm and the smell of bread and fresh pastries is strong and inviting. Arwen immediately goes around the place, looking at what is available, while Erestor walks behind her at a more leisurely pace.

A bell rings from behind the counter. Moments later, a dark brown-haired elleth emerges, a tray of fresh tarts held in both hands. Erestor recognises her immediately.

"Naurwen?"

Sure enough, it is one of the librarians in the Lindon he knows, although now she wears an apron and has her braids twisted in a bun behind her head. She smiles widely at Erestor.

"My lord! You are looking well. That is good; we were getting worried."

"I am all right." He smiles as he approaches her. "You, too, look well, my lady. So you are also here in Imladris. No longer at the libraries?"

"Aiya, Erestor, I shall forever love books, you know this, but I found other passions as well over the years. This place that you see now is the fruit of love and hard labour, of my own and of my dear husband. Oh, you must meet him soon. I cannot be happier."

"I am glad to see you content."

With Erestor having found an old friend, Arwen smiles at Naurwen and leaves them to their conversation. Erestor learns of Naurwen moving to Imladris early on in its establishment, and that she did, in fact, work at the libraries for a time, though she also started working as an apprentice for one of the bakers. She eventually also tells him of her husband, Galadir, who turns out to be Glorfindel's deputy among the guards.

"Awful thing to have happened to him, you know," she says of Glorfindel. "My Galadir does his best, but the guards would be glad to see their captain returning. We all would be."

With Glorfindel thus mentioned, Erestor reconsiders a question that has been on his mind ever since he recognised the old librarian.

"Naurwen, you lived in Gondolin, did you not?" he asks her.

"Oh, aye," she answers with a smile.

"Can you... tell me about him? What he was like then, back in those days?"

"Lord Glorfindel?" If possible, her smile seems even brighter. "You are learning about him?"

Erestor shrugs uneasily. "Of a sort. It is just something that keeps coming up, and now I cannot help but pick up the pieces whenever I find them." He chuckles. "You have Elrond to blame for that. I would say he started it all."

"Does he not always?" says the lady fondly. "Well, I am glad. We were worried for a while, you know, hearing about that curse. Nasty thing, that. But you seem up and about; not surprised, mind you, as we know you to be strong, and dare I even say stubborn? No, you will not be defeated by some silly curse."

Erestor smiles at her in thanks.

"As you know - or may not know, not really sure what you know at this point - we all who survived Gondolin owe our lives to the captain. I cannot begin to tell you how thankful we are of him, and for love of him, you would find few of us in Middle-Earth who do not reside here in Imladris.

"Back in the day, when we heard of his return, we all rejoiced. As it was, many of us already resided in Lindon. Those who lived elsewhere came to Lindon and paid their tribute; many stayed. When Lord Elrond built Imladris and it was said that Glorfindel would go with him, many of us followed him again. Always shall there be great love from those of Gondolin to our old lord and captain, even though we cannot always express it, for it makes Glorfindel uncomfortable." The elleth laughs. "Would you believe it? He makes the poorest celebrity, really.

"Now, in Gondolin: Lord Glorfindel was widely admired even back in those days. He was one of our lords and captains even as far back as Nevrast. He was one of the kinder ones, too, but maybe he was also rather... straight-laced, would you say? Kind of like how he is nowadays, but maybe a bit more before - a serious one, brave and talented, but does everything by the book, no excuses, always loyal to the king. You would not find an Elf with a cleaner record. It would be easy to understand why he was a favourite of the king - he and Lord Ecthelion, as had been Tuor and Maeglin, the Valar's justice be upon him." A look of anger crosses Naurwen's face at the mention of Maeglin's name and she makes a gesture of shaking something off her shoulder, as though brushing off evil. "Glorfindel and Ecthelion, though, were King Turgon's main captains, and would go to battle with him to his left and to his right.

"Of valour and honour - I have no words. Glorfindel insists that his actions back in those days were brought about by duty and obligation, and that he should not be honoured for doing what he was supposed to do to begin with. But then, do you not agree, my lord, that honour is tested most in our darkest hours? Things can get in the way; some call it cowardice, some call it an understandable sense of survival. Some run in the face of death - for good reason - and there is no more horrible face to it than in the burning eyes of a Balrog. We who saw can attest to the chill that came to our hearts when we were chased up to that narrow pass, but Glorfindel... aiya, his sword stayed up until the very end."

She stops here, her eyes having now grown distant. Erestor watch her take a deep breath, lets her take a moment, for her eyes have begun to water.

"My apologies, my lord," she says after a while, laughing off her daze. "It has been a while since I recalled those days. I was one of those who were at the tail-end of the group, you see, and so saw much of what went on behind us - who fell behind, all those whom I knew. It has been such a long time, but those days are as clear to me as it has ever been, so although it fills me with such pride to speak to you about Lord Glorfindel and the soldiers of his House, so does the telling give me great sorrow as well. It was no sight of beauty, you know, that day and Lord Glorfindel's later fall. Balrogs are such horrific creatures, I cannot even begin to describe what they look like..." The maiden wraps her arms around herself as though suppressing a chill. "My lord, it was a painful battle to witness. We mourned him long and deeply."

"I am sorry," says Erestor. "It is clearly a painful memory and you relive it now for me."

She waves off his apology. "Oh, well. What are old friends for, eh? It is a small thing, and anyhow, our saviour martyred in that pass is here now, is he not? And the ones who also died beside him then surely are now living life as they deserve in Valinor, perhaps walking in Lorien's gardens, I like to imagine."

"That would be a fitting fate and well deserved, yes," agrees Erestor.

Naurwen smiles, sniffs, and seems to wave off her painful memories. "Now what else can I tell you... Outside of all that, I suppose Lord Glorfindel spent most of his time with his House or with the other captains. But he was pleasant when you catch him alone, and I hear he used to write even back then. He writes even now, I believe, because sometimes I see him do it."

Erestor tilts his head. "He writes?"

The elleth suddenly grins wide, delighting so at this bit of news that it puts a blush on her face. "Poetry, my lord. He is rather good, too. There is a book of his in the library if you care to look for it. Now that is another funny story, Glorfindel finding out. But, nothing for it now; even he cannot remove a book from public property." Naurwen's laugh is long and hearty. "You could also ask him; how ever much he protests, I'm sure he won't mind if it is you who requested it of him."

Erestor is undeniably intrigued. Poetry, really? Not the first thing he would associate with the captain of Lindon's armies, although perhaps not quite so far-fetched after all, if he thinks about the gentle Elf in his rooms.

When he turns his attention to the Elf-maid again, she is smiling still, but also looking at him with a thoughtful look on her face. When she caught his eyes, her smile widens to its previous grin.

"My lord, if I may," she says gently, bending forward as though confiding to him a great secret. "The Captain truly is mighty fond of you. If it is true that you are trying to learn about him though you do not still have your memories, then bless you, that must make him so happy."

"He does not know, my lady," Erestor tells her.

"Oh, is it a secret then? Then I am happy on his behalf!" She laughs again. "I bet he would be so glad when he finds out. He's always had a soft spot for you, you know. Everybody knew about it, long before you did."

Erestor knows he must have flushed at the comment, for Naurwen quickly bursts into laughter. Arwen, standing now beside Erestor with a large loaf held in her hands and likely having listened to a great part of the story, joins her in her mirth.

"I think everyone up to Eryn Galen knew about Glorfindel's intended before Erestor did," says Arwen, not one to pass up an opportunity to tease. She is so much like her father that way.

She pays for her chosen loaf of bread. Naurwen, confessing that she was vastly entertained by her conversation with the chief counsellor, packs them both some pastries for tea, to the great delight of the younger Lady of the Valley.

Arwen and Erestor later share the treats during their usual tea time ritual.

"He is... quite real, isn't he?" Erestor asks Arwen, looking down thoughtfully at his cup.

"Hm? What do you mean?"

"I just wonder how one Elf can have so much to his name. It seems like I am just waiting for people to trip and tell me finally what the catch is."

"You are so silly, Erestor. There is no catch." She leans over and takes his hand to shake it. "Glorfindel is impressive, no? Everyone likes him. I was so enamoured of him, too, when I was a little girl. It must be because I followed you so much back then, and I thought you always had a certain liking to him. He was always so kind to you, too, especially. Although to be fair, maybe every girl my age had that 'Glorfindel phase'."

"A Glorfindel phase?"

"There comes a time for every girl when she'd think she'd want to be his wife, or to find for herself someone like him." Arwen smiles. "Everyone has their hero, Glorfindel being that for many people here."

Erestor sighs, having heard enough of so many people singing Glorfindel praises. Really, how can it all be real?

He makes a noise of exasperation that has Arwen laughing, though it takes him a while to remember that he is, in fact, married to that same Elf they were just talking about. Whatever his opinion of Glorfindel's admirers, it must be that he was like them at some point as well. How else does one end up married to another, after all?

"Erestor, you are noticing him, too, aren't you?" Arwen asks him. She sighs at the tight line of Erestor's lips, as they remain silent. "Oh, you are such a prideful Elf, poor Glorfindel. Come on, I want to show you something."

*

The book of poetry Naurwen mentioned is fairly easy to find. Arwen knows the shelf and she wastes no time in shoving the thing upon Erestor's chest. She then pushes him to one of the reading nooks by the windows where the afternoon light seeps in through the glass, and just as quickly, after having demanded that he read at least one piece, she disappears down the halls outside the library.

A good thing about Glorfindel, Erestor finds, is that he dates his work and marks them, so Erestor knows where and when they were written. This one titled "Seascape" was written in Nevrast early on in Turgon's host's landing, likely shortly after they settled in those territories.

 _Look, stranger, at this island now_  
_The leaping light for your delight discovers,_  
_Stand stable here_  
_And silent be,_  
_That through the channels of the ear_  
_May wander like a river_  
_The swaying sound of the Sea._

Erestor, needless to say, is pleasantly surprised. Barely begun, and yet already he hears the waves as clearly as if he was standing in the shores in Mithlond. The sound of waves as described in Nevrast were the same, the calm similar, bringing with them such gentle warmth.

 _What peaceful lines,_ was his first thought after reading those lines. He breathes deeply as he reads the rest, and soon he has settled himself in that nook, turning the pages of the book even as the shadows lengthened around him.

It is no great secret that Erestor is fond of the written word. What scholar would not be? A vast and accurate vocabulary, mastery of syntax that evokes images colourful and vivid - these are things that bring him peace of mind. He is no great writer by any stretch, a frustration on his part given that poetry is the art form he most revels in. Reading between the lines, however, is something he does well, a boon for any reader and lover of poetry, and he sits now with these lines and that trembling sort of anticipation one feels when faced with something promising.

For Glorfindel, it turns out, is a delightful poet. He wrote about his surroundings often, and so masterfully that Nevrast and Gondolin came alive in Erestor's mind even though he never set foot in any of those realms, having walked a different path in old Beleriand. Each poem Erestor savours long and slowly, for if there is anything to lament about most poetry books, it is that they come often too thin.

Erestor wonders for a moment if this had anything to do with the nature of their acquaintance. Did he find Glorfindel's poems before they met? Did he think of them when faced with Glorfindel, and tell him how he loved what he has done? For love them now he does. He quickly recognised that familiar excitement of finding a good writer, one whose style and eye matches one's own, except words were weaved in ways he cannot imagine doing so himself.

As the years on the poems pass, Erestor soon finds himself at a section turned more to serious things. He never shied away from war poems, finds them even satisfying on most days, but apparently one cannot be without sympathy when one personally knows the poet. Glorfindel wrote of war as vividly as he did the places he called home; he did not shy away from describing horror and heartbreak, so that Erestor reads his work with a heavy heart.

He stops, however, at one:

 _Say not the struggle nought availeth,_  
_The labour and the wounds are vain,_  
_The enemy faints not, nor faileth,_  
_And as things have been they remain._

 _If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars;_  
_It may be, in yon smoke concealed,_  
_Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers,_  
_And, but for you, possess the field._

 _For while the tired waves, vainly breaking_  
_Seem here no painful inch to gain,_  
_Far back through creeks and inlets making,_  
_Comes silent, flooding in, the main._

 _And not by eastern windows only,_  
_When daylight comes, comes in the light,_  
_In front the Sun climbs slow, how slowly,_  
_But westward, look, the land is bright._  

At the bottom of the page, it was written: _Rhiw, 473_

 _After the Nírnaeth,_ Erestor's mind quickly supplies, his hand resting on the book, but with eyes unseeing and his heart heavy with grief. Even he, who was at the time safely residing in Nargothrond, their kingdom having refused to offer aid to the sons of Fëanor, mourned that battle. But the loss of the Elven sides had been massive at the time, so much so that even those who were not there took it to heart, having known someone who did march and was lost in those barren fields.

What soldier who marched there could write of hope after so great a tragedy?

*

That evening, he waits for Glorfindel to settle before he asks, "Have you always ever fought?"

Glorfindel regards him curiously, though he does answer. "I have known some times of peace, but aye, when there are wars, I am always at the front."

"Do you not ever tire of it?"

"I have long tired of wars." He smiles sadly. "But my heart is always for the Elves. If it is their will to fight, then I shall do so beside them, and lead them when the need is dire."

"Why?"

"Because few will," says Glorfindel. "And of those willing, not many can. The same is true the other way around. Such is the way of things."

"I see." _A martyr, then, and not only in those fateful cliffs_.

He leaves that conversation there for later reflection, for in such things, there already is much difference between the two of them. He asks instead, "What is your favourite line in poetry?"

Glorfindel's smile turns even more bemused at the sudden change in subject, but all the same, he gamely replies, ever patient with Erestor.

" _Whether or not it is clear to you,  
No doubt all things are unfolding as they should._ "

Erestor listens, turns the lines over in his head. "Do you believe that?"

"I believe in a grand design, a beautiful music that was written whole and complete, though we are in the midst of its playing still, and find some parts tragic or even cruel."

"Does it help when you feel lonely?"

Glorfindel tips his head in thought. "Nay. I still feel loneliness keenly."

"Then does it help when you are in despair?"

Again, Glorfindel smiles ruefully and shakes his head. "I have been through times when I have felt utterly alone, where no amount of well-meaning philosophies have given me solace."

"Then, what good is it? Why hold affection for it at all? 'Tis a cold, unfeeling world, or so it seems at times."

"Affection is affection, be it requited or not. I find it is easier to be honest, and not dole out love based on whether or not it is deserved. True love asks for nothing in return, does it?" He smiles again. "Besides, was it not said that by knowing bitterness, we appreciate sweetness all the more? Though I feel the sting and heartache of longing, such a thing is only possible because I must love someone just as intensely. I think that is a beautiful thing."

It is something that Erestor once again turns over in his mind. Having long been a counsellor, with his knowledge of trade or in serving justice, his way of thinking has ever been in weighing costs and benefits as though in a mental scale.

"You have a lot of questions today," observes Glorfindel.

"I am curious," is what Erestor merely says, to which, once again, Glorfindel only smiles.

"So you are."

They are quiet, each left to his own thoughts. Erestor finds, however, that it had been a long day, and so it is one of those nights when he feels the mist of sleep lurking.

"I might sleep tonight," he tells Glorfindel.

"Oh." Glorfindel's face loses some of its light. Erestor makes a note of it, as curiously enough, it seems he is beginning to read Glorfindel better in recent days. Right now, for instance, the other seems to be hesitating. "Then..."

"Will that be all right?" Erestor asks him gently.

"Of course."

It is, of course, not all right. Erestor wakes in the middle of the night to the now familiar groans in the sitting room. He sleepily gets up.

"Glorfindel." He is beside Glorfindel, his hands upon the other's shoulder. "Glorfindel, wake up."

Glorfindel wakes with a curse immediately on his lips. "Erestor, I am so sorry. Just close your door, I am--"

"Just come to bed."

Really, he is about as shocked as Glorfindel, who stares up at him now with those wide blue eyes. It makes sense, however, to do it this way, for it is obvious now that Glorfindel's problem is in sleeping alone. Erestor cannot sleep here, and he would be loathe to pass on a night of rest when it comes on its own. He does not voice the offer again, however, and Glorfindel does not ask him if he was sure. So instead Erestor rises, sleepily for Lorien's mist is difficult to refuse when it comes, and makes his way back to the bedroom.

It does not happen soon, and later when it does, Erestor is already tucked back comfortably beneath the covers. The other side of the bed dips, the blanket shifts, and though he is left his side of the bed in peace, Erestor knows he is no longer alone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Given the subject matter of the chapter (which strangely became a Glorfindel character study), I'm going to pull a Tolkien here and serve you with... long footnotes! (Sorry.)
> 
> [1] Useless comment, but someone interested in psychology might appreciate it. Glorfindel's dreams, which actually emerged much later in the outline as I write this story, remind me of those people who suddenly see ghosts and similar things when they are at a low point in their life (e.g. divorce, death of a family member, etc.). Truth be told, the Jungian model with its anima and shadows have never been my thing (I like the concrete theories and techniques of the cognitive schools), but I guess if I play enough with the idea of memories and the unconscious mind, something like it is bound to come up. We see it often as a literary tool, but even on a psychological perspective, I just realised that all those writers going on about nightmares in times of strife might be on to something (so hey, keep at it guys!). It's interesting how sometimes, all it takes is a shocking life event for you to find out your hidden vulnerabilities and insecurities. Glorfindel and Erestor both are now giving me a bit of homework to do, but aah, the mind is so beautifully fascinating, so I don't really mind. ♥ 
> 
> [2] In Peoples of ME, there is a note there about how Glorfindel was reimbodied fairly quickly because he is, to summarize, that much of an awesome guy. I figured that it might not be that much of a stretch for him to ride with the host of the Valar during the War of the Wrath, assuming that he was already in Valinor by then. Among the Elves of the West, he would have the most motivation to aid the Noldor, as he would be quite sympathetic to them.
> 
> (Thought: Is it bad to attribute so much to a character when that character's badassery is nearly canon? Is it!?)
> 
> [3] This chapter was a delight to write, as it features poems that I love. Artistic Glorfindel is my true fanon indulgence, so you'll have to forgive me for it. I always imagine him as an old soul. ♥
> 
> In order that they were mentioned:
> 
> \- Seascape (W. H. Auden)  
> \- Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth (A. H. Clough)  
> \- Desiderata (M. Ehrmann) - with some word changes to fit the world of Middle-Earth


	5. Chapter 5

The nights have grown cold now, so that Erestor has taken to staying in the sitting room in front of the fire. The day had been relatively light, and so he was able to catch the first dinner bell and retire to his rooms to read earlier than usual.

It could have been the cold or even the longer nights, but he eventually wakes to Glorfindel crouched on the floor beside him, his profile glowing against the fire light. He is looking down at something with a serious expression on his face. Erestor sleepily rubs at his eyes, realising he must have fallen asleep while reading.

The movement catches Glorfindel's attention and he looks up at Erestor. As Erestor rises to sit up, he notices that Glorfindel is holding the worn book of poetry, which had become something of a favourite for Erestor and one he read time and time again.

"Good evening," greets Glorfindel, voice low in the quiet of the room. He lifts up the book. "You have been reading this?"

Erestor clears his throat. Not the best of ways to be caught reading someone's work, he has to admit, but it is not as if he can deny it now. "Aye. Naurwen from the bakery recommended it," he answers. "Do you mind?"

Glorfindel's lips stretch to a lopsided smile as he looks down at the book again. "Why they even have this thing, I do not..." He stops, shakes his head, and just hands the book back to Erestor. "It is a bit embarrassing, but you are, of course, welcome to it."

Erestor takes the book and folds his arms over it, feeling a bit protective now that he is reminded of Naurwen's story about Glorfindel trying to get rid of it in the library. He wonders how that went down, although it is not as if all poems would be completely lost if the book were to suddenly disappear now. Erestor has read them enough times to have memorised a few - not that it is anything he would readily admit to their author.

Although, come to think of it, perhaps there is something that he could ask the author. It is certainly not everyday one gets to meet such people, after all. He considers the idea for only a moment before he is already asking, "Do you still write? Do you have more?"

Glorfindel regards him curiously. "Why?"

"I wish to read more." Erestor has already checked, and there is only that one book in the library. No other volumes of poetry was labelled with Glorfindel's name, which Erestor thought was a shame.

Glorfindel seems to reflect on the request, looking a tad uncomfortable even though he does meet Erestor's eyes. Eventually, he breathes out a sigh and he stands, after which he walks and disappears into the bedroom. Curious, Erestor listens and hears something being opened - the large chest at the foot of the bed, if he would guess. He sits straight, landing both feet on the carpet, interest now piqued.

After some time, Glorfindel closes the chest again and emerges with a notebook in hand.

"Here," he says, handing the notebook to Erestor.

Erestor is unsure what he had expected, but while he is surprised at Glorfindel's offer, he also readily takes the notebook and immediately opens it.

He scans the pages, takes note of the dates. He looks up again at Glorfindel. "Unpublished?"

Again, that smile, bordering on amused and embarrassed. "It figures that you would take note of that," says Glorfindel. "Yes, unpublished. In the first place, my publication was accidental. They must have dug up my old things and found the poetry. I was surprised when I found a book of them in the library." He rubs the back of his head at the recounting. "It is strange. I figured they had considered it as an artefact of a long time past, but... aiya, what a horrible find. In any case, none of what I had written since my return has been published. So please, when you are done, return that to the chest and just leave it there."

"It is a waste of good material, though," says Erestor. "You have talent. It is good that they published your work."

Glorfindel, however, just shakes his head. "Thank you for the compliment, but really, I write for leisure. I also do not identify as a poet, and it would be strange to be regarded as such. So, please just keep that to yourself, _and_..." Glorfindel shoots out a hand and closes the notebook as Erestor moves to turn another page. "Read them tomorrow when I am not here."

*

Certainly there are reasons why one would not wish to witness the reading of one's work. Seeing as how Glorfindel did not wish to be associated much with this type of hobby, Erestor can understand why Glorfindel would ask him to read it in private. Erestor even counted himself lucky that Glorfindel acquiesced and shared these to him at all, but really, reading through them now, he cannot help but think that that Elf's openness and generosity can sometimes be rather astounding.

The difference with this set of works, Erestor finds, is that in between Glorfindel's usual themes similar to his old works, a new set of poems have emerged. The first time Erestor reads one, his face heats in the kind of embarrassment he has not experienced in much too long a time. He rubs his eyes not without a little exasperation.

Really, a little warning would have been good.

_I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz, or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.  
I love you as certain dark things are to be loved, in secret, between the shadow and the soul._

It should not have come as a surprise, thinks Erestor even as he sought to calm down from the initial shock. Glorfindel's poems were personal, confessional even to a certain extent, although admittedly, his themes in Gondolin had been more on life in the hidden city and the battles outside of it.

Erestor notes the year in this new poem: _Lindon - Firith, 1667 S.A._

He scans the next pages and find many other poems on love, progressing along the same vein. Surely, they were not, _could_ not be about him? For if so, then these poems were dated too early, for did they not say that what he had with Glorfindel was only recent? Not to mention, they married only so far into the Third Age.

He considers the thought for only a moment before he remembers Elrond's words. "The moment you were introduced to the king's council" had been his words to Glorfindel, alluding perhaps to his meeting with Erestor as well, as he did work as a counsellor to Gil-galad.

Erestor turns a few more pages.

 _Drink to me, only, with thine eyes,_  
_And I will pledge with mine;_  
_Or leave a kiss but in the cup,_  
_And I'll not look for wine._

At the bottom: _Imladris - Iavas, 1709 S.A._

The next one was written even in the same year:

 _Music I heard with you was more than music,_  
_And bread I broke with you was more than bread;_  
_Now that I am without you, all is desolate;_  
_All that was once so beautiful is dead._

 _Your hands once touched this table and this silver,_  
_And I have seen your fingers hold this glass._  
_These things do not remember you, beloved,_  
_And yet your touch upon them will not pass._

 _For it was in my heart you moved among them,_  
_And blessed them with your hands and with your eyes;_  
_And in my heart they will remember always—_  
_They knew you once, O beautiful and wise._

_(Imladris - Iavas, 1709 S.A.)_

Almost an entire notebook of poetry, half of which written about one person. What kind of story could it be when one has set his mind on a mate only to wait two millennia for any progress?

A short while later, Erestor is sitting in front of the fire on one end of the sofa, fingers drumming a (not agitated, definitely not) beat on the closed surface of Glorfindel's old notebook.

He stares at it for a few moments more, mind in several places. Another moment passes, and he flips the notebook open again.

*

"Erestor. Do not read them while I am here."

Erestor nearly jumps at the voice that spoke, and he barely just kept himself from slamming the notebook shut. The night has grown late so he sits now in bed, about to sleep. Recently, Glorfindel has been returning late in the evening, having been given permission to return to the field - provided, that is, that he splits his work still with his second. He mentioned patrolling a wide area of the western lands some time ago, and so for some time has not even been catching Erestor awake on some nights.

"I did not hear you come in," Erestor says to Glorfindel, who had just entered the room.

The bed shifts as Glorfindel climbs in. He has been especially good at keeping to his side of the bed, and he has not bothered Erestor with his nightmares since they slept like this either. Erestor observes him curiously, not for the first time wondering what he might be thinking at times like this. He seems to find comfort in Erestor's company, that much is obvious, but he does not make any requests of him, nor does he prolong conversations beyond what is necessary.

But just when Erestor had begun to form what he believes to be Glorfindel's opinion of him, the other does things like giving him that notebook, filled apparently with poems he wrote about Erestor that consistently spoke of affection unchanged in the passing of hundreds of years.

"I am curious," Erestor begins to ask before he realises what he is doing. "How did we..."

Glorfindel turns to him. He looks curiously up at Erestor, and Erestor decides to just push on, seeing as he already asked.

"I have read what you wrote and noticed the dates. How is it that we married so late?"

Glorfindel smiles that wry smile again. He does not answer immediately, and instead just looks up at the canopy of the bed. He shifts a little higher against the pillows, arms folded in front of him outside the blankets.

"I liked you for a long time," he begins to say. "You, however, needed convincing. You needed a _lot_ of convincing." He smiles at this, seems to find the story amusing. "Friendship alone was a challenge and happened only when we finally found a period of peace. You did not really like me at first, you see. You thought I brought ill-tidings and I offended you by my presence. You asked whether the Valar thought you all incapable of defending yourselves and leading your own army that they had to return a dead warrior from another age to do so for you."

Erestor's eyes drop to the bed. Sometimes it still surprises him how harsh he can be with his words. It even helps little that he has heard it before when he overheard Glorfindel recounting a similar story to Elrond.

"You did warm to me after some time. I suppose times of strife does that, and you learn to trust even your political rivals the moment you fight on the same side. We fought together until the building of Imladris, and were Elrond's most senior counsellors at the time. So, indeed, we did become friends of a sort, but it was a time of much turmoil and it took a while for things to settle. When I finally found the courage and opportunity to court you - or at least ask whether I could do so, rather - we have known each other for so long that you would not believe me anymore. You even said that you did not feel the Pull, and so it must be pointless." Glorfindel rolls his eyes at this. "Can you imagine? 'The Pull', really? Do you even really believe that?"

Erestor blinks at him, this being the first time he saw Glorfindel in such a state. "Well, I... never actually considered it all that much, but it is something you hear often told, is it not? People claim they immediately recognise a mate."

Glorfindel waves him off. "One party feels it, but the other does not. Whose experience should you trust?"

Erestor throws it back at him. "Did you feel it, then?"

Glorfindel's eyes drop to his hands and he becomes almost his familiar subdued self again. "I did," he says. He shrugs. "So, again, what does that mean? I do not think there is such a thing, some predetermined match that you will recognise upon meeting your other half. We pick and love whom we will." He sighs and shrugs again. "But like in all things, you tended to disagree with me. Eventually, I had had enough of your stubbornness, so I challenged you to a sword match. If I won, you would take my suit seriously and would at least give the idea a try."

Erestor raises an eyebrow at this. "I was won through a duel?"

"It was supposed to be a joke," chuckles Glorfindel. "We sparred often, and that had been a trying day for me. I think we were fighting about something else, too. We still argued often at the time, you see, friendship notwithstanding. As for that duel, if it makes you feel any better, you put up a good match. I almost doubted the whole idea, so earnestly did you fight me. I wondered if it was hopeless and you truly did not like me at all."

Erestor cannot help but laugh at the pitiful expression on Glorfindel's face. The other looked slightly offended by this reaction, however, and so Erestor sought to appease. "It all turned out well, did it not? We did get married."

Glorfindel just sighs again. "There is that. It just... it took such a long time."

"It is still not clear to me why it took as long as it did."

"A lot of things happened. We saw a few peaceful interludes, but it seemed that whenever we make progress - be it in the way we work, in friendship, and then sometimes I thought maybe even beyond that - a battle breaks out, Orcs are sighted, the Enemy lays his siege, new fell creatures are seen in the sky. And then suddenly, Númenor falls, Gondor fails, we march to war. It was really a bad time for such things."

Erestor goes silent, as this reminds him once again of all that he is missing.

Glorfindel, however, continues to speak. "It would have been fine if you were not so stubborn. You would think that even despite all those things, we could just pick up where we left off each time. Not with you. Every time something goes wrong, you somehow find fault, sometimes even find cause to blame me, and we fight. It is always as if we start all over again every time." He rubs tiredly at his face, seeming as though they have touched on something particularly trying for him. "Even now, I sometimes think, maybe I just got lucky. Maybe you were drunk when you agreed to marry." He laughs, but maybe humourlessly this time around. "Even when you finally agreed, there were times when the entire thing felt like a business transaction, so often did we discuss things. You had so many questions for me - what made me think it was a good idea, what I found attractive in you, what I believed living together would be like, did I not think we have both lived too long to transition into married life. You had such a... an unromantic way of doing things, shall I say, that made me doubt so many things. For all I knew, you probably had a table somewhere listing down the merits and demerits of our match, studying it until the last minute. Thank the Valar you even accepted my ring. To tell you the truth, I had been afraid throughout the whole wedding ceremony that you would change your mind."

Erestor winces. He remembers that diary Saelbeth showed him and those tables they kept working with. He somehow seemed to have developed a rather peculiar and precise style of working over the years, and to use such methods even for personal matters does not seem to be something outside of what he was capable of doing.

Eventually though, he hears a faint chuckle from Glorfindel again. "But, at the end of the day," he says with a small smile again, "you are right, and we did marry. That was a relief, finally."

Erestor just looks at him for a moment before averting his gaze, more conscious nowadays of this kind of thing between them. He has begun to notice Glorfindel's unbridled honesty in certain matters; he is straightforward and open, and so there are times that his actions are affectionate in ways Erestor does not know yet how to receive.

And so, he covers his discomfort with an old tactic: he turns the tables on Glorfindel. "Indeed, I don't suppose such bold moves are beneath you," he says. At Glorfindel's curious gaze, he tips his chin over to where he placed the notebook on the night stand. "Do you remember what you wrote there?"

It is Glorfindel's turn to wince. "Aye, of course. I had hoped you would not mention that, though, as it makes things rather awkward."

Erestor laughs, satisfied with that reaction. "I was uncomfortable at first, reading about it," he says. This time, more seriously, and also more honestly, "Overall, though, with the poetry... For the first time since I woke up with such a gap in my mind, and for all the things that I had to relearn, this is the first things that I delighted in. I know I must have read them before in that old life, but right now it feels as though I have read them again for the first time. To read such things for the first time twice, that is a blessing. A little odd, but finally, here is a token for me, some good thing to take away throughout all this."

He notices Glorfindel's odd look, and so Erestor shakes his head, smiling. "Thank you, I mean, for sharing them with me."

Glorfindel smiles as well in return. "I do know you like poetry, and it does seem as if you enjoy reading those books. It is the only thing that keeps me from taking them back."

Erestor laughs. "Aye, correct. To take them would be cruel indeed."

They are quiet for a while, both beginning to settle for sleep. Glorfindel shifts to his side, curling up beneath the blankets. Erestor has long noticed the great comfort the other gets from just being in bed, and it helps during days when he grows uncomfortable of the setup. Glorfindel is clearly content with such small comforts, and so Erestor does not have the heart to take it back from him again.

Some time passes after they blew out the candles, but another thing occurs to Erestor in the silence.

"You mentioned we used to spar," he says, turning towards Glorfindel. "Did we still often do so? Is my sword around?"

"Aye, you still have it. We should practise again sometime." Glorfindel pauses and turns to Erestor. "That is, if you wish to."

Erestor nods. "That is what I had hoped, yes. Thank you for inviting me."

*

Time passes so that the cold sips in through the stone walls of the Great House. Winters are colder in Imladris, apparently, and so nowadays, people stay mostly indoors.

This, however, means there are more of the household around at all times.

"Shouldn't you be... I don't know, more awful than this?"

It is Lindir's company this time that graces Erestor's office. Elrond's assistant has taken to visiting Erestor for the simplest of things - a question that is not urgent, a signature that can wait. Erestor is beginning to think that the minstrel just wishes for someone to talk to, and knowing Elrond, he likely would not think twice about sending away a talkative assistant.

"What do you mean?" Erestor asks, indulging him.

Lindir shrugs. "Do you feel... I don't know, different?"

Erestor looks up at him. Lindir is not the most tactful of Elves among whom that Erestor met. The Sinda says and asks what is on his mind. "I have noticed a few differences," says Erestor carefully. "Do I seem very different to you?"

"Don't get me wrong." Lindir grins as he takes a seat on the chair in front of Erestor's desk. He stares at him unabashed and looks for all the world as if he is staying for a while. "You are charming company like this, too. Quiet, a bit slow to react..."

"I may have dulled slightly, Master Minstrel, but I do know when I am meant to be offended."

"Now, now, old friend, I do come in peace. It is just that sometimes I do miss the old you." Lindir laughs - giggles, actually. "Vindictive, quick-tempered and prone to long-winded diatribes and all you. You were quite a character."

Erestor eyes him blandly. "I see."

"I could not have done this, for instance." Lindir props both legs on a corner of Erestor's desk, though his slippered feet do have the decency to just dangle off the edge. He then pointedly gestures at them, as though proving a point.

Erestor just looks at him disdainfully. "You still may not. Feet down, Lindir."

"Well, yes, but then I would not have tried it in the first place. There lies the difference." Thankfully, Lindir places his feet down and sits up again. This time, though, he begins playing with a few quills on Erestor's desk. "How is the husband?"

Erestor watches him with a guarded look, but since he does not seem to be doing any damage, he lets him be. "He is fine."

"You are not neglecting him, are you? He is a sensitive one, after all, him being who or what he is notwithstanding. People seem to think 'Glorfindel the Balrog-Slayer' is all endurance and brute strength, you know?" Lindir scowls at this, as though he finds the idea distasteful. "But even people like him, they get strength from somewhere, too. You should take care of him. My mother always says that a breaking heart is the fastest way to hearing the Sea-call... or at least something of the sort."

"'A worn heart hears quickest the call of gulls,'" Erestor recites the old saying.

"Yes, there you go! But, of course you would know that, since you are about as old as my mother." Lindir brightens at this. "You know, you might even know her. Bellethiel? She was also a counsellor at Gil-galad's court."

Erestor blinks at the name. "Bellethiel?" He remembers her, of course, the memories of an age ago still fresh in his mind. Strange that such a strict elleth can bear someone so... so Lindir. "That is rather surprising. So you are her child."

Lindir smiles widely and nods. "We get that a lot, don't worry. She spends her days in Mithlond these days, and I visit her from time to time. I send her letters, too. I'll let her know you remember her in my next one."

*

The conversation with Lindir, at least, reminded Erestor of another aspect of his life that he has not thought about in quite a while. However, much can happen in an age, and so he sought Elrond the next chance he gets.

"Are my parents still at the Havens?" he asks him.

Erestor is not quite sure what he had expected when he asked, but the look on Elrond's face is certainly troubling. A shadow falls on Elrond's face at the question and Erestor immediately knows to sit down.

"Tell me," he says.

"Ai, my friend, I am sorry." Elrond folds his hands on top of his work, his attention fully on Erestor now. "Your father fell in the Battle of the Last Alliance - in Dagorlad, in the great battle there where we lost so many. Your mother grieved him long and she sailed a year after his death."

Erestor stares at him, hearing the words though he does not fully understand them. "How can he fall in battle when he has laid down his sword?"

Elrond nods. "Yes, so you have told me. But the last war was meant to be our last stand against Mordor, and all the races that were for the cleansing of Middle-Earth marched with us on that day."

There is something that the other does not say and Erestor immediately calls him on it. "It was me, wasn't it. I convinced him." He can imagine that encounter clearly in his mind. "I must have told him to come. He would not have taken up the sword again for any other reason. He is not so noble that he would go against his oath to leave that path behind, unless his own son insulted him to his face and threw him an old slur, reminding him of another time when he turned his back against another great war that defined an age."

Erestor's father was a Noldo who closely worked with the Fëanoriyn. He was a member of the court of Maedhros and, shortly after, of Caranthir. A loyal subject at the beginning, he eventually felt disquiet in Thargelion, ever plagued by the wars the brothers often chased and their obsession with the movements of Morgoth and his legion. He therefore did not last long under Caranthir, who was quick to anger and quicker still to draw his sword. He later moved his family to Nargothrond, where he did find some peace.

Erestor's mother once said that his father never recovered from the kinslaying at Alqualondë, even if he did still eventually follow the host of the Noldor in the end. Erestor had been young at the time and so stayed with his mother, but he did vaguely remember the haunted look on his father's face when he returned. Erestor's mother said that never again did the sword feel right for his father after that, not even when the host of the Valar came with Eärendil to take down Thangorodrim.

The old Noldo had also hoped that Erestor would choose a better path than he did, one of crafts or of the mind. He had been disappointed at his son's political ambitions and was ever against his activities at court both in Nargothrond and even Lindon, nevermind that Erestor accomplished much compared to his peers.

So often did the two of them clash that there was little love lost between them when Erestor chose to dwell in realms apart from his parents. Even at the dawn of the new age, when the couple chose to stay under Círdan in Mithlond, Erestor chose to dwell between Lindon and the newly built Ost-in-Edhil, where he was active in the weapons unit of the Gwaith-i-Mírdain. That had been yet another source of strife between father and son, for of all the crafts, Erestor had been ever drawn to metalwork. Difference of opinion defined their relationship, and so he has no reason to doubt that things remained that way before his father's fall.

"Erestor, we have had this conversation before," says Elrond, pulling him back from his thoughts. "That was his decision to make, regardless of what you said. He must have found merit in marching, something that made the fight worth it, as we all did. It was a good cause, what we fought for. And the two of you, you were ever in each other's company when time permitted it. He marched with Círdan, while you with me, and so you did not fight side by side. But in the tents when we had time to rest, the two of you talked. We marched for seven years, my friend, and much happened to us all in all those long years. Differences can be set aside, as I believe, you did with yours." Elrond grips Erestor's hand. "Your father died in the most honourable way a warrior may die. Do not regret it." 

*

Erestor is still distracted when he meets Glorfindel later that afternoon, which was the day they agreed to spar. Glorfindel said that he would bring Erestor's sword with him, him being the better one now of the two of them to know where the old thing is kept.

At first it did not register, his mind still floating elsewhere. But as the strong winds of that afternoon work to bring Erestor back to the present, he notices something wrong. At first it is but a strange ringing, barely noticeable, like the faint buzzing of a bee a few paces away. But as he unsheathes the sword Glorfindel gave to him, he becomes more conscious of the noise and that dizziness that he now knows all too well.

"Are you ready?" Glorfindel calls out to him, standing inside the practice circle and opposite Erestor a few paces away. He turns his wrist for a few warm-up swings with his sword before taking a ready stance, unknowing of Erestor's troubled state.

So Erestor bids him, "Wait." Erestor takes another moment just standing with the sword in his hand. After some time, he places the sword back on its sheath and faces Glorfindel, who now stands straight again.

"What's the matter?" he asks Erestor.

"I do not remember what to do." Erestor looks down at the sword again, which he knew to be his only because it looks like the sword of a lord and not a mere practice sword. He thought that it was one he had gained during the period he forgot, and so he did not recognise it immediately. Now, however, he is not even so sure, for he does not even remember what his own sword is supposed to look like. "I do not recognise this blade. I do not know how to hold it, much less defend myself with it."

This time, Glorfindel's face reflects the same troubled expression. "Are you saying that... even this, you have forgotten? You forgot how to use a sword?"

Erestor had shut his eyes even before Glorfindel finished. His hand grips the scabbard as the very thought of it passes through him like ice water. This, again, another thing forgotten? Just how many more of them should he bear in a day?

"I do not understand," he says, just barely keeping control of his own voice. "This should not be-- why is it even part of it?"

"We did this often. Together, I mean," says Glorfindel. "Like I said, we used to spar - rather often, at that. I do not think you sparred with anyone else in recent decades, so that this is something that we..." Glorfindel falters, and Erestor belatedly realises that there must be something in the way that he is looking at the other now. Shock, maybe, or some of the horror he feels - he does not know what Glorfindel sees. Glorfindel eventually finds the voice again to speak, though it looks as though he needed courage to say what he eventually says. "I used to count it as our time together, in a way. That is how often we did it."

Erestor shakes his head. "I have long known how to use a sword. I remember..." The buzzing rises and he shakes his head again, attempting to rid himself of it. "I _know_ I should know this. I know I used to do it, for I know I marched in the last war. Are you saying that I lost my skill in even this because I did it so much with you?"

For a moment Glorfindel seems at a loss. He begins to look around, and his eyes finally land on something in the distance. "Archery," he says, referring to the targets over on the other side of the field. "Archery was something you practised on your own. Would you like to try?"

Glorfindel later hands him a bow and places a quiver of arrows beside him on the ground. Erestor's movements are immediate; he expertly nocks an arrow, shoots, and they see the arrow hit its target.

"But it matters little," says Erestor gravely after a pause, where they both stood just staring at the point in the target where the arrow hit. "Everyone knows to draw a bow. What use is a warrior without his sword?"

Glorfindel seems at a loss for words. "Erestor..." he begins to say, but trails off with nothing to say.

Words, anyway, are of little use, or so Erestor thinks. His arm with the bow feels limp at his side. His eyes remain on the target.

"I wish to be alone." It is an effort, keeping that level voice.

"Erestor, it doesn't matter. You are not a warrior anymore, and you can always learn this again--"

"I think I have indulged you enough, Captain." His voice sounds harder now despite his attempts to quell the rush of blood in his head. "I have allowed you what you needed given the circumstances of recent months. Right now, however, I am in no state for such fancies. Please leave."

The words rush out of him and he even sees, from the corner of his eyes, the moment they hit Glorfindel. The golden head bows and the other just stands silent, for a long period of time.

Numb to it all, Erestor just lets him, having not the strength to command him by force. He does not look at him, however, does not speak to him, and after a while, he takes another arrow, and begins shooting at the target again.

Glorfindel leaves soon after that, leaving Erestor alone in the field. He continues to shoot until he runs out of arrows. Frantically, he looks around for another quiver. He finds it at another post for another target, and so he moves there.

Again and again he shoots, but his mind is far from focused, and so half the time he misses, performance dwindling over time. He curses at each mistake, tries harder at the next one, but so hard does he push himself that he fails even worse as time passes. His fingers tremble on the fletching and the arrows fly every which way, but he stops only when he runs out of arrows again. He throws the bow to the ground and his hand immediately flies to his scabbard, the action strangely instinctive though the sword still feels foreign in his hand.

As though coaxing him from his daze, a chill wind blows against the side of his face, turning his head to the edge of the woods that stands as a natural wall to the practice fields. He takes his sword and takes off towards a gap in the trees.

How long he ran, he could not tell. Winter has already arrived indeed, cold as the air now feels especially at his speed and against the bare skin of his hands and face.

He eventually arrives at a small clearing. A dead tree lies on the ground, its wide trunk looking hollow so that it seems it has been there for quite a while. It is all the invitation Erestor needed before he has his sword out and he is hacking at the brittle wood, venting out months' worth of frustration on the faded bark, and sometimes even already on the hard ground.

The strength of the hits reverberate back to his arms and back and they begin to hurt after a while. He realises that he even lost the form to keep up prolonged assaults and minimise injury. He lost everything there is to know about the sword - and the fury that comes with the thought is unbearable.

The world around him fades. He is unconscious of the setting Sun, the greying of his surroundings and even as night fell. All he hears is the noise in his ears and his sword slicing through the air and hitting what it will, mindful only of what little comfort it brings.

This is how Glorfindel later finds him. The hour has grown late and he must have come checking for Erestor. How he found him this far from the fields, Erestor does not know. All he knows is that his head hurts at the exertion, and his shoulders and arms throb with overuse. His palms are moist and there is a stinging there that tells him he must have already drawn blood. All around him is the evidence of the devastation he wrought. The fallen tree he found is smashed to pieces on the ground, and scattered around them are broken branches and fallen leaves, and even open wounds on the bark of living trees.

"Erestor, what did you do?" Glorfindel whispers with not a small amount of horror as he looks around him, and finally again at Erestor. "The trees cry at the flash of the blade you carry. Do you not hear them? Stop it now before you cause any more harm."

"I find all these gaps in my mind," Erestor says only half-consciously, and the words come out between panting breaths, "and I cannot bear it, being unable to see. How dare he... How could power over the mind exist, where events and deeds earned in a lifetime can be made to disappear in an instant? Even my sins..." Here his voice breaks, his thoughts straying to where they were earlier in the day, to his fallen sire and on the role he played in that tragedy. "I remember nothing that I could grieve, or even to know what penance I should make or even whether I have already made them." Thoughts now to the strange sword in his hands, to the strangers he met in Imladris who did not act like strangers, to that day months ago when Galadriel came and he had to listen to things in which he had not wished to dwell. "What am I that I was helpless against it? Could I have truly done nothing to stop it? Was he not but a Man?"

"He is of Man, yes," Glorfindel begins to say, "but he is also something else now, and where he learned of the craft we do not know. He might have learned it from the Maiar who came to the East2, or even, perhaps, from Sauron himself. Do not underestimate him, Erestor, nor should you belittle yourself for what he was able to do."

Erestor hears the words, but they fall to deaf ears, and he looks at him now, this supposedly great Elf around whom all this was rooted. With the lull also comes the whispering of the trees; he has yet to let his sword go, and they are agitated by his presence. They make such noise that go with the whirlwind in his mind when all he seeks is silence. Mindlessly, he lifts his sword again. The noise around him rises, but he ignores them and he swings, aiming for the nearest thing he could hit.

Glorfindel meets his blade with his own, a steady strength against Erestor's trembling rage. Erestor pushes him off, the sound of blades slicing against the songs of the night. Nowhere near satisfied, Erestor swings at him again, finding strength despite the aches in his arms and the rapid beating of his heart.

They are like this for some time, Glorfindel taking the blows with the blade of his sword, but he never attacks, nor does he let Erestor harm anything else around them. Erestor hits him clumsily, he knows, but the energy within him demands release and pushes him on.

He stumbles at a blow and nearly falls if not for the sword he stabs to the ground and uses as a crutch. He sees Glorfindel hesitate and look as though he would approach, but Erestor stops him.

"No, halt!" He sways on his feet at first, but he clutches the sword and straightens himself. He swings the sword again and steps towards him. "Just stand there and take it."

Glorfindel is silent, but he does take the swings of Erestor's sword, parries the oncoming blows. The last move he makes pushes Erestor so that he stumbles again at the momentum, but this only stops him from a moment. He rises and attacks again.

"Erestor, enough. Stop before you hurt yourself."

Glorfindel's voice is strained, but he is unyielding against Erestor's attacks. This and his words only serve to anger Erestor all the more. His breathing has grown ragged and each inhale is difficult and painful, but the sword is hot in his hands, and he is unable to stop. Glorfindel grunts at a particularly hard blow.

"Erestor, I said that is enough!"

With barely three steps and an efficient move too quick for Erestor to follow, Glorfindel disarms him, his sword flashing in the moonlight as Erestor's goes spinning in the air. Shock and dawning shame fill Erestor at the sight that his hands have begun to ball into fists, but once again Glorfindel is faster; he drops his sword on the ground and takes Erestor in a tight embrace, holding fast despite his struggles and the angry words he spits in the chill air of night.

Glorfindel's voice comes low and deep against Erestor's ear. "I beg you, enough." The embrace tightens as Erestor feels the next words spoken through his hair, as Glorfindel buries his head in the space between his shoulder and neck. "I am sorry. I am so, so sorry. I do not know how to make this right for you. Did you think I do not regret being unable to protect you from this? No day has passed that I did not wish for it to have been me instead. I beg you..." Fingers card through his hair as Erestor stands there in numb disbelief. Those fingers are not gentle, however, nor do they feel in any way controlled as they seem to claw at his hair, pulling even painfully at the strands. "I beg you, do not take it upon yourself. Do not think you are weak, nor should you blame yourself for what has happened. And I beg you, please, my darling, do not push me away. Let me hold you when you are in doubt. I can offer you nothing but comfort, I know, and while this I regret beyond words, I beg you please take it from me all the same. I love you, Erestor. Please. I am so sorry."

For a moment, the anger recedes, so shocked is he by this sudden assault. Glorfindel is warm where everything else is cold, and so for a moment Erestor almost lets him, seduced by those words. But like the rushing tide, the same old thoughts return, and with it the anger, the shame, the disappointment.

Words of love are the last thing Erestor needs, or so he thinks as he begins his struggling anew. He wishes to be let go, to be left alone so he could drown in the rage and the shame of being so touched, so belittled by one whom he has not even seen, punished not even for his own deeds, but for those of the Elf whose apologies are now mingling with the ringing in his ears.

For the first time since the news was broken to them, Erestor feels the sting of tears. He struggles against Glorfindel, though more weakly this time. Shamefully, his vision blurs just before he shuts his eyes, and he grits his teeth against the sob that suddenly threatens from behind his throat.

But a sob does cut through the silence all the same, and Erestor takes a deep breath, for a moment thinking that he had betrayed himself. It is only when another one comes again did he realise that they did not come from him, but from the same Elf who claims to offer him strength, but is the first to break in their tight embrace.

Glorfindel wraps his arms around him tighter, though he no longer offers any words. No sound comes from him again either, but he does bury his face deeper on Erestor's shoulder. He holds him - holds on to him - for a long time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whoo! Okay, footnotes: 
> 
> [1] Poetry credits, in the order that they were mentioned: 
> 
> \- _XVII (I do not love you...)_ by P. Neruda  
>  \- _To Celia_ by B. Johnson  
>  \- _Bread and Music_ by C. Aiken
> 
> [2] Glorfindel alludes to the Blue Wizards, whose mission I just assumed he knew about, as Glorfindel landing in the Second Age must mean that he landed at about the same time as Alatar and Pallando - or, you know, at least walked in the same world as they did in Valinor when Manwë went all, "Hey, go to Middle-Earth." In a letter, the Professor suggested that they might have failed in their mission, and that they might have instead become the sources of cults and magic traditions in the East and the South. I remember reading that and thinking, "Now there's an inspiring thought." I do so love the mysteries surrounding those realms.

**Author's Note:**

> Word references:
> 
> Ada - Father  
> Nana - Mother  
> Peredhil - Half-Elves ( _sing._ Peredhel)  
>  Arien - the Maia who rides her chariot during the day; we see her as the sun  
> Ithil - the moon, pulled by the Maia, Tilion  
> Elleth - Elf-maiden  
> Rhîw - winter (Elven seasons)  
> Firith - autumn (Elven seasons)  
> Iavas - harvest time, between summer and autumn (Elven seasons)  
> Fëanoriyn - sons of Fëanor (s. Fëanorion)  
> Naurwen - fire maiden (female name)  
> Bellethiel - strong one (female name)


End file.
